
ROBERT LOWELL, 

Author of •• The New Priest in Conception Bay." 



A NEW EDITION 
(WITH MANY NEW F0P:MS.) 




BOSTON: 
E. P. DUTTON AND COMPANY 

1864. 







Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863. hy 

RoBKRT Lowell, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Soutliern District 

of New York. 



RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. 



To 
JOSEPH GREEN COGSWELL, LL. D., 

THE FLRST HEAD OF KOUND-HILL SCHOOL, 

TO WHOM THE BOY BROUGHT HIS LESSONS WITH JIUCH 

REVERENCE AND LOVE 4.ND WITHOUT FEAR, 

THE MAN OFFERS THIS BOOK AS 

FEARLESSLY AND WITH 

NO LESS LOVE AND 

REVERENCE. 

July 31, 1863. 



TTAVING from childhood met, now and then, 
and listened to the Muse of Numbers, the 
writer offers here a few of the few things that 
lie has learned, at different times, from her, and 
hopes that they may not be thought too many. 

Lest the dates, put to most of them, should 
be thought to have been occasioned by a con- 
ceit or affectation, it is right to say that they 
are owing to a friend's discovery of a remark- 
able chance-likeness between one of these, printed 
years ago, and a recent poem m a Magazine. 
One being dated, some others, at least, must be 
so ; and in the end, most of these pieces have 
had the time at which they were written, given, 
after them. The general reader will be kind 
enough to pass over these dates as harmless ; 
some friends may even find a slight interest in- 
them.* 

* Some persons may need to be told that, where more than 
one date is given, the piece was left (forgotten, perhaps) al- 
together, between; then found and carried on. 

March 1860. 



CONTENTS. 



ANTHEM-CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS 
THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN'S LOST HOPE 
A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND . 
THE AVARNED ONE .... 

THE DAYS OF SIN . . ... 

THE LITTLE YEARS .... 

OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL . 
A CHRISTMAS HYMN .... 
TURNING LOVE AWAY .... 
A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES . 
A DREAM OF JUDGMENT JUST AT HAND 
A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS 
THE painter's PROBATION. PART I. 

THAT DEAD 

THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS 
THE PITYING CHRIST .... 
NEWFOUNDLAND .... 

TO THE MUSE 

TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED . 
THE CRY OF THE WRONGED 
A CHRISTMAS SERMON 

BEFORE MORNS 

THE PALMER AT THE AVAYSIDE 

THE BISHOP BOUND .... 

THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE . 

A COMMUNING WITH GOD BEFORE ORDINATION 



PAGP 
7 

9 
20 
22 
23 
26 
29 
35 
3G 
39 
4G 
56 
58 
65 
67 
71 
72 
74 
76 
80 
«3 
90 
92 
94 
96 
101 



VI 



CONTENTS. 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW 
THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS 
DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING 
THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD 
THE YEAR IS GOXk! 

A robin's song . 
burger's LEXORE . 
the barken field 
Christ's legacy 

A DIRGE .... 

A BURIAL-HYMN 

TO GOD, MOST HIGH 

LOVE DISPOSED OF . 

TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS . 

JOHN HAYES'S LAST VOYAGE . 

THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE 

A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS 

THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT 

SONGS OK OUK HOLY WAR. 
A HYMN FOR THE HOST 
NEW ENGLAND ARMING 
THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND . 
NEW ORLEANS WON BACK 
A CALL OF TRUE MEN .... 
THIS DAY, COUNTRYMEN 
MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR 
THE FAILURE AT FREDERICKSBURG . 
PRAYER IN THE FIGHT (KoRNER) . 
OUR LAND BEYOND THE WAR 



PAGE 

104 
109 
111 
117 
119 
123 
124 
136 
139 
142 
146 
147 
149 
151 
155 
157 
161 
171 



181 
183 
186 
189 
193 
195 
197 
201 
203 
205 



AN ANTHEM-CAROL FOR CHRISTMAS. 

Out of highest heaven dropping, 
Like tinkling rain upon the sea 
Came sweet music, swelKng, stopping ; 
'Twas the angels' symphony. 
" Glory be to God, on high ! " 
Ran like lightning round the sky : 
Then, like rain-drops, fell agen, 
" Peace on earth, good-will to men ! " 

1846. 



This little traged}^ shaped itself in my mind from the 
suggestion of two or three words in a note to a Greek Au- 
thor, as I remembei'ed them, afterwards; a poem "by a 
boy" (without a name) was mentioned as having come 
down from earlier times. The Reader is to set the time 
three thousand years back.* 

"• The Title is an earlier (and shorter) one than that with which it 
was first printed : the Poem is the same. 



THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN 

AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 



I. 

A YOUTH lay near the fair gulf's* fringed shore ; 
The noise of Corinth scarcely came so far ; 
But landward sounds, that, when the day is o'er, 
Tell where blest homes and ended labors are. 
On the broad bay, behind, 
Lugged by the lazy wmd, 

A freighted ship drew on, towards the evening- 
star. 

II. 
The little waters, as the daylight waned, 
Lagged up the beach, prattling with shell and 
stone ; 

* Of Corinth. 



10 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN 

The eastern sky was all with sunset stained, 
Where the two heads of that great mountain * 

shone. 
Lower, each vale and glade 
Drew in, to deeper shade, 
Tlie eye of him that gazed from that far shore 

alone. 

III. 

Still lay, bright-hued, in air, both far and 
wide, 

All crumbled rays the sun had thrown away ; 

And, floating thick on the night's dewy tide, 

Came smells more sweet than scents of burn- 
ing day; 

And then a voice, — as fair 

As all the best things there, — 

Scarce startlmg him ; old, gentle, sweet, and 
sad as they : — 

IV. 

" Thou musest of the gifts that, yonder, wait 
Those whom the Gods do choose with far-off 
ken: 

^ Mount Parnassus. 



AND THEIR LOST HOPE \\ 

Castalia's spell,* and the rich, dreamy freiirht 
Laid on Sleep's shore,t for favored sons of men. 
/ sought one sacred gift ; — 
Ah ! Time's waves, strong and swift, 
Have swept brigiit looks and hopes, that made 
my world glad, then. 

V. 

" Beside a pool, where, still, two olives meet, 

Threescore years since, some Delpliian X chil- 
dren played : 

We built our little mole and launched our fleet. 

And then along the rippling margin strayed 

Watching the voyage o'er, 

Till, at the farther shore. 

Our galleys, one by one, on the safe strand 
were laid. 

VI. 

" Mine, ever mine, was foremost in the race. 
Till, tired, our little maidens sat them down. 



* Whoever drank of the water, might drink the divine 
spirit also. 

t He that slept upon Parnassus, in waking found his mind 
possessed by poetic inspiration, or was possessed by madness. 

X The city of Delphi, where was the great temple of Apollo, 
stood upon the mountain, a mile or more from the foot. 



12 THE DELPHIAISI CHILDREN 

Wliispered apart, — then sang : — one, witli 

bright face. 
Said, ' Let our poet wear a Pythian cro^ai ! ' 
They wove the dark-leaved beech, 
Each helping, hindermg each, 
Then, in child's triumph, all turned homeward 

to the to\\ii. 

VII. 

" On huge Parnassus hung a wondrous cloud, — 
We children marked it, — much like yon fair 

show ; 
Again Alcestis spoke, but scarce aloud, 
' At times the mighty Shades do gather so. 
(So did my mother say ;) 
They come not in the day, 
But m still night, to walk the high woods to 

and fro : ' 

VIII. 

" Shades of the great old Greeks and Barbar- 
ous men, 

Whoe'er on earth had loosed some mighty song : 

At times by night they wandered here, and 
then 

What poet found the haunt of the dread throng 



AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 13 

On that for mountain -height, 
Ere dawn was lost in light, 
That 07ice, plucked fadeless floAvers that to their 
realm belong. 

IX. 

" My heart beat quickly, as w^e gazed and w^alketl, 
For they had all praised my own childish 

rhyme ; 
Evadne, too, my sister, while we talked. 
Turned her full eyes, as if I, child, might climb 
Up to that haunted land ; 
Alcestis pressed my hand 
As if she felt my heart throb at the very time. 

X. 

" I lost our Pythian garland in the road, 
While we w^alked thoughtfully, and sometimes 

spake. 
The wondrous cloud with the last sunlight 

glowed, 
As yon cloud lately : — might not we awake, — 
We three, — from early rest. 
And on the mountain's breast, 
Climb with fresh, hopeful hearts, high ere the 

day could break ? 



14 THE DELPHIAN CHHDREN 

XI. 

" Out of glad day, tlirough the fair porch of eve, 
Our pUiymates passed into the halls of sleep. 
I listened long, for the great town to leave 
Its noise and watchfuhiess, and long rest keep. 
Then faltered forth, to gain 
The great god's awful fane, 
Seared by each far, lone cry, and the far, con- 
scious deep. 

XII. 

" 1 shrank before the columns cloaked with shade. 
And, shuddering, felt a fanning of great wings : 
I dared not that cliill presence to invade. 
Dim with dread forms of gods and godlike 

kings. 
I gasped my childish prayer : 
I had no garland there 
To offer, as men vow their gifts and glorious 

tilings. 

XIII. 

" Ere that fair night had reached her highest 

bound. 
We met and grasped each other's trembling 

hand ; 



AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 15 

With faltering whispers scaled the fearful ground, 
Three children where dread rocks and huge trees 

stand. 
On high the broad moon rolled ; 
And her rays, white and cold, 
From darkness, here and there, scarce won the 

doubtful land. 

XIV. 

"We kept a torrent's coiu'se, and, trembling 

still, 
Went on and on, startmg and stopping oft: 
Sometimes we sat and wept, as children will, 
And my cheek felt Evadne's, wet and soft: 
' Home ! ' she would gently say, 
" Nay ! ' said Alcestis, ' nay ! ' 
And still we clambered on, through the dread 

woods, aloft. 

XV. 

"Hours, hours went on, and cold and darkness 

grew : 
Still, weary and afraid, we clambered fast, 
And dawn began to gray the night's deep blue : 
We gained the upper woods ! — The way was 

past ! 



16 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN 

Now need we only seek 
Where the two echoes speak, 
Above, below, at once, to find the flowers that 
last. 

XVI. 

" Our voices faltered, when we strove to smg : 
We feared the trees, the rocks, the quivering 

gloom : 
At length we dared our little hymn to fling 
Through the tliin air, where shadowy horrors 

loom. 
Lo ! at the earhest sound, 
The mystic spot was found. 
And there a high, smooth cliff, crowned with 

undying bloom. 

XVII. 

" Great characters upon the rock's high face 

Slowly we saw, in the dim dawning light; 

' Men that were Makers,' * far up we could 

trace, 
And then their names that had the Maker's 

might ; 

* 'ANAPES nOIHTAI' it mav be read. 



AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 17 

We thought not what great hand 
Had made those names to stand : 
We thought that at the foot a boy's name we 
might write. 

XVIII. 

" So, with weak hand, I sought to print the 

stone, 
The little maidens sitting at my side. 
' First,' said Alcestis, ' make the flowers thine 

own ! ' 
' Nay,' said Evadne, with a sister's pride, 
' Let our young poet's name 
Stand on this roll of fame ! ' 
So I, Avith hurrying hand, my weary labor 

plied. 

XIX. 

" Slowly the dawning grew, and slowly I 
Now wrought, now rested ; but Alcestis still 
Said, ' Gather first the blooms that hang on high ! 
Day will be here ere thou this task fulfil : 
Yon peak sees it afar. 
And yonder shrinking star ; 
First gain the fadeless flowers, then work here 
at thy will.' 



18 THE DELPHIAN CHILDREN 

XX. 

" Four letters rudely in the stone were Avrought, 
And could be read, * A Boy/ * but yet no name. 
' See/ said Alcestis, ' how the peak has caught 
Already daylight : soon 't will be a-flame. 
It is not yet too late ! 
Mount where the bright flowers wait : 
Flowers that, when thou art dead, will ever be 
the same ! ' 

XXI. 

" I tried the cliiF, and climbed : my hands were 

sore, 
And I was tired : yet I strained up tlie height. 
The little maidens shouted, ' Yet once more ! ' 
I tried : I tried : I could not reach them quite. 
And ah ! behold on high, 
Ah ! all across the sky. 
The day was come, at last, and dawn was lost 

in light. 



" My tears burst forth : in vain my sister said, 
' They are still there ! ' — I knew it was in vain. 

* 'IIAIS' — but as yet no name, it may be read. 



AND THEIR LOST HOPE. 19 

It was too late. — Alcestis hung her head. 
Sadly I came down to the earth, again. 
' Home ! ' said Alcestis, now : 
P^vadne kissed my brow ; 

And, by our torrent's course, we toiled ^own 
to the plam." 



The little waters trickled down the beach, 
And landward sounds fell, faintly, to their rest. 
The dews were heavy, and that sad, soft speech 
Had ceased, just when the ear had liked it 

best. 
The young man was alone, 
And great cool night was thrown 
Over wide earth and sea, from far east to far 

west. 

June 16-20, 1858. 



20 A BOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. 



A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. 

I BUILT a house on the golden sand, 

With the glearay sea beside ; 
It looked forth, here, on the dear, loved land, 

And there on the changing tide. 

It Avas sweet sprmg-time, and the days all fair, 

Till the pretty work was done ; 
And the house seemed akin to the bright, clear 
air. 

And the summer glance of the sun. 

But a wind with waves came up from the 
sea. 

And burst through the Aveak shore's check; 
They spoiled all my pleasant things for me, 

And my house was all a wreck. 

The seasons changed, and the strong land-wind 

Drove back all my fickle sand ; 
But only a waste Avas left behind. 

And my walls no longer stand. 



A HOUSE ON THE YELLOW SAND. 21 

Trust not the golden, yellow sand, 
The sea, nor the changeful blast; 

Dig deep in the strength of the fast-set land, 
And thy home shall stand as fast. 



1860. 



22 THE WARNED ONE. 



THE WARNED ONE. 

Silent watcher, see'st thou aught 
On the far-off ocean's brim ? 
Has tliine eye a meaning caught 
In the mist- world's changeful whim? 
Gaze full long, and gaze full deep : 
There is that which chaseth sleep 
In the spirit-forms that rise 
]rar before thy fated eyes. 
Be thou, watcher, timely wise. 

Blessed are those sons of men 
For whose sake a light is set 
Out beside things far-off, yet, 
So to bring them within ken; 
Showing them in ghastly white. 
While beyond is depth of night : 
Blessed are they, if they know 
What these things far-moving are, 
Coming, coming, sure if slow. 
They give warning, thus, afar. 

July, 1847. 



THE DAYS OF SIN. 23 



THE DAYS OF SIN. 

Oh, mournful, mournful time ! 
I prayed : but sin was there : 
Sin crept upon my prayer, 

And made my prayer a crime ! 

I prayed, and prayed again : 
But sin was in it still ! 
It throttled my weak will ; 

I struggled — but in vain. 

I burned by day and night, 
I feared that fire of sin — 
Its covering seemed so thin — 

Would show to other's sight ! 

My daily work I did, — 

I talked of Heaven and Hell, 
Full often and full well, — 

But ah ! what woe I hid ! 



24 THE DAYS OF SIN. 

It seemed as if my fate 

Were up : in Satan's mesh — 
A damn(^d soul in fiesli — 

I lived beyond my date. 

Christ's life in me seemed lost ! 
Where was the promise now, 
Sealed to me when my brow 

In his blest sign was cross'd ? 

I strove to fly from me ; 

Always it was the same ; 

Hell was where'er I came ; 
God's -svrath I could not flee. 

Such life I loathed to keep, 
But could I dare to die ? 
Heaven's walls so hopeless high 

And Hell a soundless deep ? 

My heart aye told me well 
I gave myself away, 
To be the Devil's prey — 

By my own hand I fell. 

I struggled once for all ; 

God's altar — there I prayed ; 



THE DAYS OF SIN. 25 

And bitter cry I made 
Behind my closet wall. 

A change began to be ! 

I felt the Breath of Life ! 

For Heaven and Hell Avas strife : 
I struggled, and was free ! 

Ah ! now the strife was done : 
I sought the Flesh and Blood; 
I ate Salvation's food ; 

My soul to Christ was won. 

February 10, 1847. 



26 THE LITTLE YEARS. 



THE LITTLE YEARS. 

A SONG FOR THE ELDP:R GRADUATES. 

These years ! These years ! These naughty 

years 
Once they Avere pretty things : 
Their fairy foot-falls caught our ears, 
Our eyes their glancing Avings. 
They flitted by our school-boy way; 
We chased the little imps at play. 

We knew them, soon, for tricksy elves; 

They brought the college gown; 

With thoughtful books filled up our shelves, 

Darkened our lips with down: 

Played with our throat, and lo ! the tone 

Of manhood had become our own. 

They smiling stretched our childish size ; 
Their soft hands trimmed our hair ; 
Cast the deep thought within our eyes 
And left it glowing there : 



THE LITTLE YEARS. 27 

Sang songs of hope in college-halls, 
Bright fancies drew upon the walls. 

They flashed upon us love's bright gem; 
They showed us gleams of fame ; 
Stout-hearted work we learned from them. 
And honor more than name : 
And so they came and went away, 
We said not go : we said not stay. 

But one sweet day, when quiet skies 
And still leaves brought me thought, 
When hazy hills drew forth my eyes. 
And woods with deep shade fraught, 
That day I carelessly found out 
What work these elves had been about. 

Alas! Those little rogues, the years. 

Had fooled me many a day ; 

Plucked half the locks above my ears, 

And tinged the rest all gray. 

They'd left me wrinkles, great and small : — 

I fear that they have tricked us all. 



Well, — give the little years their way; 
Think, speak, and act, the while: 



28 THE LITTLE YEARS. 

Lift up the bare front to the day, 
And make their wrinkles smile: 
They mould the noblest living head; 
They carve the best tomb for the dead. 

July 20, 1858. 



[Hands skilful and famous have taken this up to make a 
tune for it ; and yet it wants one, that it may be, as was meant, 
and as the maker longs to have it, sung by the Elder Gradu- 
ates ] 



OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 29 



OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 

Within the twilight came forth tender snatches 
Of birds' songs from beneath their darkened 

eaves : 
But now a noise of poor ground-dwellers matches 
This dimness : neither loves, nor joys, nor grieves. 
A piping, slight and shrill, 
And coarse, dull chirpings fill 
The ear that all day s stronger, finer music leaves. 

From this smooth hill, we see the vale below, 

there, 
And how the mists along the stream-cour=e 

di'aw : 
By day, great trees from other ages grow there, 
A white lake, now, that daylight never saw. 
It hugs, in ghostly shape, 
The Old Deep's shore and cape, 



30 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 

As when, where night-hawks skim, swam, fish 
with yawning maw. * 

All grows more cool, though night comes slow- 
ly over, 

And slowly stars stand out within the sky ! 

The trampling market-herd and way-sore drover 

Crowd past Avith seldom cries, — their halt now 
nigh. 

From out some lower dark 

Comes up a dog's short bark : 

There food and welcome rest, there cool, soft 
meadows lie. 

The children, watching by the roadside wicket, 
Now house ward troop, for Blindman's-Buff, 

or Tag; 
Here chasing sidelong, fire-flies to the thicket, 
There shouting, with a grass-tuft reared for flag. 
They claim this hour from night : 
But with a sure, still sleight. 
The sleep-time clogs their feet, and one by one 

they lag. 

* In our narrower, deep dells and valleys, the mist will 
hide, altogether, the trees, and show how, in old times, the great 
waters filled all these deep places. 



OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 31 

Our doctor jogs, with loose rein, on the highway, 
Near where the lawyer with his rake is set : 
Short greetuig, — and the two, in merry, sly way, 
Tease with old jokes that have their fresh- 
ness, yet. 
This charges clients lost : 
That, law's most hopeless cost. 
And heart-strain that by healing-skill is never 
met. 

A farmer, with his coat across his shoulder, 
Leans, with his youngest boy in arms, to wait 
While, with big words, and oft-jerked reins, 

the older 
Urges the unhitched horses through the gate. 
A little girl, unshod, 
Stands by with idle rod, 
Her sweet-breathed cows long since brought 

home with welcome freight. 

Far down the road faint shouts of maidens' 

laughter 
Mark twilight-meeting by the open well: 
Now stillness for some tale ; gainsayings, after. 
Prove, shrilly, how well-thrown some youth's 

name fell. 
3 



32 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 

Not only maidens hear : 
A sudden rougher jeer 

Makes known some ambushed ears and tongues 
the tale to tell. 

Thmgs have not kindly ties, within a city ; 
Here thoughts hang garlanded on wayside trees, 
Where Will made endless mirth, Hal sang his 

ditty : 
One fell hi our great war : one sails far seas : 
And here, at some smooth stone. 
Have young hearts often known 
That lordly bondage, first, that first the young 

heart frees. 

Dusk arms our moral taverner with drenches 
More safe for sots that now no longer taste ; 
While slow-tongued neighbors fill his outer 

benches, 
For these still hours, their evening reek to waste. 
Squire, here, and stroller meet ; 
And yet one empty seat 
Awaits the greater man, or else is left in haste. 

All know of all, and dwellings, roads, and 
bridges ; 



OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 33 

The crop's best hope, fresh colts, and horses 

lame; 
Tell what a Father thought on drills and 

ridges. 
Name children, sick, and the last guest that 

came. 
An easy common-law 
Holds party strifes in awe ; 
Our fiery smith, alone, his rash tongue scarce 

can tame. 

Li one far cot a clarinet is droning ; 
Lads strive in whistUng on the southern hill; 
The farness and the dew-soft air atoning 
For noise so kept alive with tireless will. 
Who sighs for rich and proud, 
The great Town's nightly crowd. 
Its song, its show, its sin, their harmless place 
to fill ? 

From our priest's household, as the night draws 

nearer, 
Through windows open pours a holy song, 
Sung to their own hearts and One Kindest 

Hearer, — 



34 OUR INLAND SUMMER-NIGHTFALL. 

For many a child's note wanders freely wrong. 
Yet is the sound most meet, •- 

With day far under feet, 

And dimness here, and sleep, — for all to God 
belong. 

And now the still stars make all heaven sightly ; 
One, in the low west, like the sky ablaze : 
The Swan, that with her shining Cross floats 

nightly, 
And Bears that slowly walk along their ways. 
There is the golden Lyre, 
And there the Crown of fire : 
Thank God for nights so fair to these bright 

days ! 

[Written as it happened, during the days of the base riots 
in New York City, July, 1863.] 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 35 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN. 

The first time that the skies grew bright, 
When Heaven lay open wide, 

And angels gleamed adown the night 
Of one still country-side ; 

'Twas when the Almighty Heir of All 

Came forth, a helpless child, 
Amid the darkness of a stall, 

And through our nature smiled. 

Far down in Being, but forgot 

By none who watched afar. 
Above the lowly, hidden spot 

Was buoyed one floating star. 

Then angels, up the heights of sky. 
Flashed glory with their shout. 

And o'er the wide earth sleeping nigh, 
Fell words of peace about. 



86 TURNING LOVE AWAY 



TURNING LOVE AWAY. 

(long years ago.) 

O Love, go forth ! I brought thee here 
For that I heard thee sing one day 
When thou wast in the grass at play: 
That song of one that was too dear. 

Love ! — O Love ! — I could not bear 
To listen by the wayside there ; 

1 longed to hear thee sing, somewhere 
Where no one else was near. 

Rememberest thou, my little guest? 
In bearing thee, (thy pretty wing 
Blmding my eyes, thou roguish thing !) 
I wandered where my feet knew best. 
She laid on thee a timid touch, 
But oh ! that little was so much. 
The arrows in thy careless clutch 
Stung all my open breast. 



TURNING LOVE AWAY. 37 

How bright the earth was, that glad time ! 
How sweetly breathed the evening air ; 
It seemed her breath was everywhere, 
And ours became a fairy clime ! 
The sky hung all in gold and red; 
The flowers all vied their scents to shed ; 
The ground seemed loving to my tread ; 
All sounds, that eve, did chime. 

I gave thee but one only task: 

To go as my true messenger, 

And bring sweet words again from her, 

The work thyself didst ask : 

Until that day between us two 

Thou broughtest lies ; we thought them true. 

So well our cunning traitor knew 

His young, false face to mask. 

I must shut up thy little room ! — 
Ah ! o'er its yet unhardened wall 
Thine arrow traced her name, and all 
Her look, except her own fresh bloom ! — 
I could not come here but to weep : 
Here was thy little couch to sleep ; 
These walls thy useless work will keep ; 
But this shall be a tomb. 



38 TURXIXG LOVE AWAY. 

Let me forget that lying tongue ! 
Ah, what a price its falsehood cost, 
When once, was once forever, lost ! — 
Yet sleep that loss, lost things among ! 
For such this world makes no amends. 
We drew apart and chose new friends : 
So many a short, bright story ends, 
Where two young hearts were wrung. 



A [VALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. Sd 



A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 

I. 

Graves of the silent dead, 
Ye echo to the tread 
Of a lone, mourning man : 
They were my friends of yore ; 
Sweet company they bore 
To me when life began. 

II. 

I wander here, alone, 
To seek if faithful stone 
Is set by every grave ; 
And to call up again 
Thoughts, cherished not in vain, 
They to my young soul gave. 

III. 
Y^ours first I call, dear Hopes, 
Seen on the sunny slopes. 



40 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 

Where as a cliild I lay ; 
Or that by winding brook, 
My loitering steps o'ertook, 
In the long summer day. 

IV. 

There was no sound of man ; 
My free 80ul forward ran 
Among the coming years. 
I felt the breath of fame: 
I heard aloud my name : 
My eyes were nigh to tears. 

V. 

Glad Hopes ! Ye gave me then 
Wliat long, late toil to men 
Brings only withering : 
I plucked with childish gripe, 
Tlie fruit ere it was ripe ; 
But it was mine m spring. 

VI. 

Sweet, sweet, sad Hopes ! what now 
Is left upon the bough, 
Of flower, or fruit, or leaf? 
And yet, why mourn, if ye 



A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 41 

So early gave to me 

Thoughts fail' and bright, though brief? 

VII. 

Feelings of cliildhood's time, 
That stretched about to climb 
On all that stood around ! 
Whose twining grasp was laid. 
In sunshine and in shade, 
Tireless on all it found, — 

VIII. 

Whose hold was often flung 

From that whereon ye clung, 

Yet would not long be free ; 

By your fond instinct taught 

I thought (true childhood's thought) 

That all were kin to me. 

IX. 

Amid the boys' loud band 
I seem again to stand ; 
Again quick- voiced and glad ; 
Feelmgs more great and strong 
Than to child's sports belong 
Li those young days we had : 



42 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 

X. 

The swell, ere storms begin, 

When huge waves tumble in 

And fill the little bay; 

So from life's vexed se^, 

The strong, deep swell knew we, 

In childhood's peaceful day. 

XI. 

That human brotherhood, 
Mingling in every mood. 
Made this our life so great, 
The mystic, awful bond 
Still urged me forth beyond 
Myself, to feel my fate : 

XII. 

One of so many more. 
Whom life was laid before 
Full of mysterious things ; 
Where every human soul. 
To the great common whole, 
Its lore and insight brings. 

XIII. 

I look once more to see. 
As at the chestnut tree 



A WALK AMONG MEMORTS GRAVES. 43 

Where the far voices died, 
The pleasant thoughts that played 
Beneath that pleasant shade, 
In troops on every side. 

XIV. 

Then youth came sailing o'er. 
Fairer than all before, 
Broad-sailed and deeply fraught. 
Love ! Hope ! Ambition ! you 
Mastered the lithe, strong crew. — 
Love ? — Hope ? — Ambition ? — Naught ! 

XV. 

Yet, if they were but vain. 
They come no more again 
To make me loiter here : 
The work that God has set, 
It has the long days, yet. 
And brightest of the year. 

XVI. 

Still has my cliief work been 
Rather to make me clean, 
As he must be that will 
Go forth 'mid thronging men 



44 A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 

And stretch his forward ken 
Onward and upward, still. 



XVII. 

No more, no more I call ! 
Cool, solenm shadows fall 
Down on my open mind ! 
For this I wandered here — 
For this I called you near, 
Thoughts of things long resigned 

XVIII. 

They will be raised one day, 

And throng about the way 

Of the old dying man ; 

Hopes, feelings, joys that smiled 

Upon him when a child. 

And o'er the bright scenes ran. 

XIX. 

Children in summer's eve. 
Do pluck the old man's sleeve 
And clamber up his knee ; 
Or draw him by the hand 
To where their playthings stand, 
Or their sweet sports to see. 



A WALK AMONG MEMORY'S GRAVES. 45 

XX. 

Thus will these come, once more, 
To lead him gently o'er 
The scenes loved long ago ; 
And in his eldest days, 
All childhood's long left ways 
Make liim again to know. 
July, 1846. 

[One stanza was put in and the neighboring parts adjusted 
to it in 1860-1 



46 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT 



A DREAM OF JUDGMENT JUST AT HAND. 

The Earth doth rock ! the Earth doth reel ! 

It topples like a poised wheel, 

When the hand that held it falls. 

Its burning heart doth throb mth dread, 

As the mighty blast both quick and dead 

Forth to God's Judgment calls. 

The shattered air is drowned in rain : 

No cloud shall ever come again. 

The leaves hang down : the rank grass droops : 

The storm-unshaken mountain stoops ; 

The ocean's roar is heard : 

Less ! less ! and less ! Ah, it doth cease ! 

Its broad, smooth bosom waits in peace 

For the Almighty Word. 

Earth is riven ! Rocks are rent ! 
Darting flames are upwards sent : 
Everywhere the fire has vent : 
Every sepulchre is burst : 
Dust from dust, dust from dust, 



JUST AT HAND. 47 

Lo ! the smiier and the just, — 
T(» be blessed, to be blessed, blessed, or forever 
curst. 

Crowding, crowding, they are come. 

Millions, countless, yet is room. 

Though each sod has been a tomb. 

On the waters millions stand, 

vStill, as those on fixed land. 

Not a whisper, — not a breath ; — 

They have not yet unlearned death. 

Pale, pale, oh, ghastly pale ! 

And the thin bodies are no more a veil 

To the souls that are within. 

They are so sere and thin. 

Wretched, oh, wretched, wretched sight ! 
Every secret brought to light. 

Tongue could not speak, hand could not write. 

******* 

The sun ! the sun ! 

The end of all things is begun. 

How near ! how bright ! 

But oh, the Earth' 
What is its beauty worth ! what are its riches 
, worth ! 

4 



48 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT 

What are its paltry glories worth ! 

'Tis of too small a girth, — this despicable earth, — 

For the Last Deed that yet is to be done. 

Speech ! Human speech ? No ! 'tis not human 

speech ! 
That tone no voice of man could reach ! 
'Tis a new sound on earth, — a screech 
Of the Doomed Dead raised up : 

Lord God, oh, how it doth beseech 
But for one chance, a single chance, but one ! 

Voices, voices, everywhere. 

Hiss and hurtle in the heavy air. 

The air is dead : no more they breathe : 

The air is dead, above, beneath. 

Oh, what voices crowd mine ear ! 

All that ever died are here. 

And God's great, last Doom so near ! 

All life, now, seems only fear ! 

All at once, yet separate, 

I hear them all : each has its date 

And follomng : Time is not done, 

And yet Eternity almost begun : 

Eternity and Time just blending into one. 



JUST AT HAND. 49 

Oh ! oil ! how soon, how soon shall this last 

time be clone ! 
Hark ! a dull, thick earthly tongue, 
And still mth thought all earthly hung : 

" Help me to pile this costly stone 
Above my neighbor : — 'twas my own : — 
Nay, nay, nay, nay ; — let all alone ; 

He is not there : but can I yet atone ? 

My heart was never in that ^^a*ong : 

Fate drives men's blinded wills along : 

I stroV^e ; but I was weak, and it was strong. 

Thou dost not blame ? Kneel with me, then, 

And hide this shame from God and men. 

This long, carved lie, that time forgot. 

For Christ's sake, help me here to blot: 

Help me ! — thou dost not fear thy lot." 

******* 

There is a sound of preparation heard, 
For the dread coming of the Heavenly King, 
As when the deep wood-depths unseen are stirred 
Ere with the tempest's mighty gust they swing. 
The King is coming : He that long ago 
Came to this earth, a Man of woman born, 
And o'er, its wide face wandered to and fro. 
Weary and weeping, and with travel worn. 
Eating with earth's most wretched and forlorn. — 



60 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT 

A fair light flares upon the sky, as if before the 

morn. 

******** 

Here are fair things : if women, or if men. 

The eye scarce marks ; and yet the heart may 

know 
That these were ivedded, and unsundered, when 
Death into want and waste their flesh brought 

low. 
Here is no fondness ; here is no desire : 
But one kind likeness grown where love filled all ; 
And here is mother's-love that could not tire 
Nor be put ofl'; and manly heart's true fire 
That gave up all his own at others' call. 
Now all is upward cast, and onward longs : 
Christ is the lovely One, to whom all turn. 
Onward to Him the holy feeling throngs, 

And love that learned of Him, to Him doth yearn. 

******** 

What desperate voice crawls upward from the dust? 
What thing lies here, without all love, faith, hope 

and trust ? 
I am no king : 
I am some meanest thing, 

That washes beggars' feet: — I seek no throne, 
I can bear always to be trod upon. 



JUST AT HAND. 51 

They that for me in sudden graves have lain, — 

Must I forever wear a guilty stain ? 

Death never was to last : 

Who sleeps, since that dread trumpet-blast ? " 

Onward and upward glows the conquering light, 
Spreading the skies around with gilded white ; 
And soft sweet sounds of mighty love breathe out, 
Strewing the Saviour's path with heavenly flowers 

about. 
He comes, He comes whom every eye shall see ! 
Lord, all the nations turn their eyes for thee ! 

Was this man rich ? and never rich with love ? 

Oh, how his cry is strained all sounds above ! 

" Holy prayers I made ; 

And countless alms have paid ! 

I have built churches, and my name was known 

Abroad, wherever winds have blown ! 

" It is on record : was it all for nought ? 

What price, then, ever. Paradise has bought ? 

When earth burns, that cheating wealth 

Let it drain away by stealth : 

Had I given, had I given, 

I might lift my eyes to heaven ! " 



52 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT 

As the wide water spreadeth on the hind, 
With mighty softness taking every place, 
Until the flood alone doth all-wheres stand ; 
So doth the Presence of the King at hand 
In mildest conquest make its way, apace. 
Till all is held and mastered in His Grace. 

Now, little voices, sweet beyond all sweet, 

Pour to the most kind Lord their welcomes fleet. 

" Hosanna ! Glory in the highest be, 

son of David, loving Loi'd, to Thee I " 

Like some new life, made lightly of soft notes, 
This Avay and that, above, the child-song floats. 

He that sat glittering up on high. 
But knew not God, oh, what a bitter cry ! 
" I would kneel before my door, 
Callmg round the filthy poor, — 

1 would crawl upon my knees 
To the side of loathed disease, — 

Worse things, and baser things than these, — 

Could I lick the very sore 

With distemper rumiing o'er, — 

No ! no ! no ! my season is no more ! " 



JUST AT HAND. 53 

Soft sound comes forth from them that gird the 

Lord 
Forever with their hand of circling love, 
Like and unlike, yet all in blest accord : 
Earth hath not heard such sounds since it did 

move 
At first, to most sweet measure, when the Word 
Sent it forth blessed, and the sons of God 
With joyous song timed its far march abroad. 
Down, grovelling down, the man of bloody hand 
Sinks, while his cheek with those blest sounds is 

farmed. 
" I thrust God's life out from my brother man : 
Now a long death my endless life shall span ; 
And in the dread strife conquer neither can ! " 

The bright clouds open : Glory swelleth through ; 
INIillions upon their bended knees do fall : 
These shall be saved : these are the chosen few : 
Lo ! on their brow a cross of glittering dew 
Shines with that Glory. These were faithful, all, 
And, while they lived, beyond their season small 
Saw ever Judgment, Heaven, and Hell, in view : 
These followed Christ and listened to His call. 
New-born of water and the Holy Ghost ; 
And, bemg most forgiven, loved Him most, 



54 A DREAM OF JUDGMENT 

Upheld with heavenly food to keep the way, 
With living food renewed and strengthened, day 
by day. 

Falsehood and guile not yet their own place seek : 
What words all thick with shame the lips can 

speak ! 
There is no manhood in that deathly cheek. — 
"• Those are still vows that then I spoke. 
Though all that man can break I broke. 
I see how strong God's high Word stands : 
Yes, though I blind nie with my hands ! 
I broke my oaths, I broke thy heart, 
I broke God's law and endless love apart. 
He holds me not ! — I feel no tie above ! — 
Nothing my heart knows of Christ's blessed love. 
Child ! wilt thou, too, go into bliss 
With a fresh memory of this ? 
This most sad thing, this last of eartli, 
His doom, to whom thou owest birth ? 
Is Heaven such ? Is Hell so near ? 
That thou in heaven itself mayest hear 
The hopeless shriek, the frightful shout, 
That must and ever will burst out, 
fLver and ever, from the damned rout ? 
And know ' That is my Father wailing there ; 



JUST AT HAND. 55 

That voice I know ? ' Despair ! Despair ! " 

******** 

Great silence falls : but silence full of sound, 
And full of splendor : and the Lord is found, 
Here in the midst, at hand, and not afar, 
And beauteous living things about Him are. 
The eyes that looked on Mary, look on all, 
xVnd in our hearts words that men speak not fall : 
The very thonis, — the spear-wound and the nails ! 
Life is become but love, and all thought fails. 
1845 ; finished July, 1863. 



56 A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. 



A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. 

Carol, Christians ! Christ is here ! 
Carol for this Baby dear ! 
This is Man, but God, the more ; 
Sing beside this stable-door ! 

This our King, witliout a crown 
In a manger is laid down. 
Where the Maid, Avith meekest hands. 
Wrapped him all in swathing-bands. 

Ages long ago He came. 
Lived and died, yet is the same : 
He, who, slain ere Things were made, 
In this stall a Babe Avas laid. 

Sing, good Christians ! come and sing ! , 
Praise our Christ, and praise our King ! 
Gladdest Night ! most happy Morn ! 
Christ, our Lord, this Day was born ! 



A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS. 57 

Sing; our best, both Young and Old ! 
Never heart, this time, be cold ! 
Never eye of love be dim ! 
Who love others, they love Him. 



58 THE PA [y TEE'S PROBATION. 



THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. . 

[How he strives to make the fairest painting that was ever 
made in earth.] 

PART FIRST. 

There comes in life a frequent hour, 

When the full voice of Fate 

Calls with a dread, mysterious power 

On those who should be great : 

To warn them that a mighty dower 

Somewhere for them doth wait. 

For somewhere, in the long, long train 

That marches down through Time, 

Working out human nature's gain. 

Its glory or its crime. 

For each a station doth remain : 

With power to do or to refrain, 

A humble or sublime. 

And they whom God hath breathed upon 

And gifted, from their birth, 



THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 59 

With lofty powers to labor on 

The labor of this earth, 

For them, amid the swelling crowd. 

An office is assigned 

With mighty influence endowed ; 

And mito them Fate calleth, loud, 

In the first-opening mind. 

Again, again, through shine or cloud, 

Her words come, as the wind. 

Alas ! how many, downward bowed. 

Their birthright have resigned ! 

O God ! How much of great and good. 

How much of fearful sin, 

Were gained, or gallantly withstood. 

If these their place would win ! 



There hung upon the chamber-wall 

The fancies he had wrought : 

All that his soul had power to call. 

Out of the shapes that shadow all. 

Into his burning thought. 

The hopes that gladdened early years 

Had left their colors there, 

And shades were there, that early fears 



60 THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 

Had tanglit his art to wear : 

Alternate smiles, alternate tears, 

(So that young life to thought appears,) 

Each memory had its share. 

But in the dark and in the bright, — 

Colored by joy or pain, — 

Something was wanting to his sight : 

The utmost all were vain. 

Sweet strains of music from old days 

Murmured about his soul, 

And INIemory's deep, golden haze. 

An atmosphere of mingled rays. 

O'er his wide thought would roll, 

While airs, like summer wind that plays, 

Would gently fan the whole. 

Oh ! at such seasons, wdien he felt 

As if his spirit, free 

From the close body's narrow belt. 

Swelled towards Divinity, 

And pure and strong and living grew. 

As when at first it came 

From Him that sent it forth to do 

Deeds that should earn a name, 

Or, nameless, bear a blessing through 

The paths of this world's shame. 

Oh! why, when God himself inspired 



THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 61 

Those raptured hours of thought, 

The very seasons oft desired, 

Why lias he yet in vain retired. 

And still no trophy brought, 

Though, by a transient impulse fired, 

Again he strove and wrought? 

He saw the scene : he felt the force ; 

He started forth to do ! 

But no! the streamlet from its source 

Bears flowers of every hue"" 

Wrapped in their seeds ; and, in its course, 

It strews and plants them too : 

But time, and place, and God's own smile 

Must meet together, or long while 

Unfruitful they must lie, 

Ere they will show again the scene 

From which they came, and which has been 

Painted in many-colored sheen 

Beneath another sky. 

Thus all were vain : he could not find 

Within his utmost power. 

That form that floated in his mind. 

Not indistinct, though not defined. 

Leaving a memory behind. 

Like tints at sunset hour. 

His gleaming eye had caught its light, 



62 THE PAINIER'S PROBATION. 

His cheek had felt its glow ; 
And di-eamily before his sight, 
In the rapt visions of the night, 
That fancy-form would go; 
And when his spirit felt its might, 
That form he seemed to know. 
In the wild agony of prayer 
His trembling hand had tried 
To fix the fleeting figure there : 
And he had sought m mad despair 
The power that was denied. 
All Beauty and all Holiness, — 
(Alas ! there mingled Sin,) — 
Howe'er combined, could not express 
That form he sought to win. 
There was the blue of changeless Truth: 
There Avas Love's burning red ; 
The golden-glowing Hope of Youth 
- Its yellow glory spread : 
Oh, pure ! oh, bright ! oh, heavenly deep ! 
There seemed God's Light within. 
And wings of angels seemed to sweep 
The breathing work : but shades did creep 
O'er all : there mingled Sin I 
That chill, chill wind from o'er the graves 
And from the cold, damp tomb. 



THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 63 

That wind that frosts the hair it waves, 
And pales the cheek's fresh bloom ; 
The bitter wind that we must face 
As down life's hill we go apace, 
And evening spreads its gloom; — 
He felt its first cold-creeping breath. 
And saw afar, in mist, the vast, dim shape 
of Death. 

Come down, O night of dreamless sleep ! 

Come to this sad, sad room: 

This working will and spirit steep 

In silence, not in gloom. 

Be thou, O night of needed rest, 

A calm, clear night of peace, 

"WHierein the voice of heavenly guest 

Can sing his gentle sootliings best, 

That make earth's struggles cease ; 

And, in the shut and darkened mind, 

Leave sweetest lingering notes behind, 

That shall the calm increase, 

Until with waking prayer they find. 

As with a breath of morning wind, 

A happy, fit release. 

And ye, flowers of earnest Thought, 



64 THE PAINTER'S PROBATION. 

That in his mind grew bright, 
With fresher perfume shall be fraught 
And fau-er robes, of spirits caught, 
Cast down in peaceful night. 

1838 and 1846. 



END OF PART FIKST. 



[The Author must ask those who are interested to wait for 
the Second Part of The Painter's Probation. In finishing the 
First Part, he set up a few lines of the other, to start with : 
but has not touched them since.] 



THAT DEAD. 65 



THAT DEAD. 

Is he gone? Oh! Is he gone? 

And does the world still travel on, 

Heedless of his loss, 

Like a freighted ship, at sea. 

Ploughing on, though there may be 

One that perished suddenly. 

In the deep, like dross? 

He is dead: yes, he is dead: 
Bands of earth bind down his head, 
Bands of earth his feet. ^ 

They that stood and saw hun die 
Brushed the salt tear from the eye. 
And they that wrapped him, by and by, 
In his winding-sheet. 

He was one that had high thought 
In the mind-rooms where he wrought 
For all others' sake ; 
5 



36 THAT DEAD. 

And had looked along the way, 
Where the halting-places lay, 
Where, from every weary day, 
He his rest would take. 

December, 1846. 



THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS- 67 



THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DAYS. 

" Though He was rich, yet, for our sakes, He became poor. — 
How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the king- 
dom of God ! — The cares of this life, and the deceitfulness 
of riches choke the "Word, and it becometh unfruitful. — Lay 
not up for yourselves treasures upon earth. — Take no thought 
for the morrow." 

Christ in a ^vretched place was born, 
Nor owned his very grave ; 
^He lived both homeless and forlorn, — 
His fellows such as rich men scorn, — 
And ate what beggars gave. 

And when the Lord of Life became 
Poor, and of none esteem. 
He bade his followers do the same; 
For Him to choose a life of shame ; 
Earth's goods a curse to deem. 

The poor He blessed, and opened wide 
The kingdom to their feet; 
And bade the rich man go divide 
The wealth whereon he built his pride. 
And give the poor to eat. 



B8 THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DA YS. 

Not otherwise might he be made 
Christ's brother and God's son; 
For how could one in pomp arrayed 
The family of Christ invade, 
AVliere wealth and pomp was none? 

Christ's brethren, — oh ! what seraphim 
Cared less for earthly good! 
The rich, bright world to them was dim; 
They marched along with Prayer and Hymn, 
And left it, where it stood. 

If in the Kingdom's early day, 
Men gave up earth for Heaven, 
If lands and wealth they gave away. 
If dainty food and rich array, — 
If all for Christ was given, 

Then how unlike God's humble Son 
Are they who bear his name! 
In rich apparel every one. 
No worldly good they care to shun : 
Are those and these the same? 

The rich, — the rich are everywhere ; 
These fill the Temple too. 



THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN UR DA YS. 69 

And scantly give the poor a share 

To whom Christ said te blessed are; 

God's kingdom is for you. 

rich men! who do claim to be 
The followers of the Lamb, 

"VVTiat, what are you, and what was He ? 
Is not His name a mockery? 
Is not your faith a sham? 

1 see your houses cedar-lined : 
Ye feed each earthborn lust 

For food, for gems, for gold refined, 
For every pleasure that can bind 
The spirit down to dust. 

What single tiling that wealth can buy 
Do ye, for Christ, forget? 

To BEAR THY CROSS, THYSELF DENY, 

Know ye these words? Were they to die, 
Or are they living yet? 

Has Christ taught you another way, 
The Fathers never knew, 
To live well here, and live for aye ? 
To liave the riches earth can pay, 
And those hereafter too? 



70 THE CHRIST FORGOTTEN IN OUR DA YS. 

And yet ye cant of serving God 
And giving to his poor, 
Who go unfed, unclothed, unshod, 
And underneath the heavy sod 
First find a sleep secure. 

men well clothed, and warmed, and filled 

While God's poor children fast, 

The very churches that ye build 

And deck with pomp and carve and gild 

Will judge you at the last. 

Where are my poor, Christ still demands,— 

To whom the Gospel came ? 

Tliis costly offering at your hands 

Is to yourselves, and only stands 

A monument of shame. 

Give to my poor! give much: give all, 
If nothing less will do ; 
They that at first obeyed the call. 
Were fain to let earth's riches fall: 
Shall I ask less of you? 

June, 1849. 



THE PITYING CHRIST. 71 



THE PITYING CHRIST.* 

O MY Saviour ! art Thou there ? 
From withm this wasted heart, 
Cries of shame and deep woe start : 
Empty chambers, empty halls, 
Everywhere some lone voice calls : 
There dwelt pleasure; there came sin 
Wailing sounds now roam within. 
Saviour ! Oh ! if Thou art there, 
Be my heart of all else bare ! 

O my Saviour ! art Thou there ? 
Otherwheres I looked, too long ; 
Till I read thy dear looks wrong ; 
Love on others I have thrown, 
And my Lord have all unknown. 
Now, by loss and sorrow wise, 
Let me look up to thme eyes ! 
Lord! if Thou, indeed, be there, 
Give thy prodigal his share! 

* " Christ may dwell in your hearts by faith." 



72 NE WFO UNDLAND. 



NEWFOUNDLAND. 

RUGGED land ! 

Land of the rock moss ! 

Land whose drear barrens it is woe to cross ! 

Thou rough thing from God's hand ! 

stormy land! 

Land where the tempests roar! 

Land where the unbroken waves rave mad upon 

the shore : 
Thine outwalls scarce withstand ! 

O w^intry realm, 

Where the cold north winds blow; 

Where drifting, bitter sleet, and blinding snow 

All man's poor work o'erwhelm ! 

O bleak, bleak realm. 

Whose homeward-hastening bark 

Is crisped with ice : sails, cordage, stiff and stark, 

And iced the miruly helm ! 

What hast thou in thy gift? 

The kindly sun has shone. 

These thousand years, the stubborn cliffs upon 



NE WFO UNDLAND. 73 

Wliich thou on high dost lift: 

Wliat hast thou in thy gift? 

A stinted growth appears : 

Grass, shrub, and tree, slow-growing in long 

years, 
Where gapes the rocky rift. 

Yet thou art good: 

Thy barrens feed the deer; 

And birds of other lands do summer here. 

In thy lone humble wood. 

Ay, thou art good ; 

The poor man at his door 

Gathers his fuel; and year-long thy shore 

Yields, in free gift, his food. 

And better, still: 

Beneath a guardian-crown 

The poor man freely walks and lays him down, 

Free in all things but ill : 

And better, still : 

Here Holy Faith liath come. 

Teaching that God will give a glorious home 

To those that do His will. 

January 9, 1847. 



TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. 



TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. 

Dear Muse ! thou hast not told me wrong 

Thou wert a heavenly thing : 
I knew it in the earliest song 

I learned of thee to sing. 

I took thee at thy simjDle word 
(And none like thee was fair) ; 

Thy whisper's breath my life all stirred, 
And the chill touch of thy hair. 

For thee I watched the twilight soft ; 

For thee I roamed the wood ; 
Unwaited and unlooked for, oft. 

Beside me thou hast stood. 

The sunlight I learned all with thee : 

The gleam and gloom of rill : 
All lonely glories of the sea, 

And woods with full thought still ; 



TO THE MUSE — NEVER OLD. iii 

Broad sheen of night-time, and its shade ; 

The stars' great, awful walk ; 
Whatever, sundered stillness made 

More dear than men's best talk : 

And finer things than ear can take, 

More fair than eye can know, 
From God's clear realm some slightest flake, 

That melts with us, below. 

With thee I saw the flush of cheek, 

The truth of moist, deep eye : 
Life's hidden tide, where no sunbeams leak, 

As whirl its strong depths by. 

The craft of words is thy dear gift, 
That struggling hearts can hold, 

And sudden, wondrous building lift 
In thought's broad sky of gold. 

Come, yet, to me ! chill days are here. 
When earth's fresh things are shed. 

And hearts hold closer all their dear 
For want of all their dead. 

October, 1863. 



76 TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 



TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 

Thus we meet, that long were parted: 

As I feel thy hand, 
Seems, once more, the boy, high-hearted. 

By my side to stand. 

Now thy touch is something colder 

Than 'twas wont to be ; 
We are changed in growing older : 

Yet I longed for thee : 

Waited anxiously, yet fearing 

For the change of years ; 
Hoped yet dreaded thy appearing 

To shape out my fears. 

For our feelings grew together, 
And our voices, blent, 



TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 11 

Through the long fair summer weather, 
Forth ill space were sent. 

Every answering hill that heard them 

Called them not apart ; 
They were one ; one impulse stirred them, 

Mingled from each heart. 

By the solemn forest shaded, 

Side by side we lay ; 
Hand in hand the streamlet waded, 

Tossing far its spray. 

Many a tree and hill and hollow 

Fondly then we knew ; 
Many a lonely path could follow, 

Where light glimmered through. 

At the fence the wood dividing 

Lay our common spoil. 
Hidden for the sake of hiding. 

Treasured for the toil. 

Every frequent boyish pleasure. 

Lost, if had alone, 
We would share it without measure ! 

Thine was still my own. 



78 TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED 

Every sight of love and beauty 

That to childhood came ; 
Every hope and every duty ; 

Dreams that had no name ; — ■ 

Each with each to us was blended, 

And one shadow threw : 
To one bourne the shadows tended, 

Over life's wide view. 

When, apart, an anxious longing 

In our hearts was set ; 
And our pulses, loud and thronging. 

Bounded as we met. 

Hastily my veins would tingle 

At thy noble deed ; 
And thy glance of praise, though single. 

Was my dearest meed. 

Now thy voice is calm and steady, 

And thine eye is cold; 
And the glow that once w^as ready 

Comes not, as of old. 
We that had one record, only, 

From the Angel's pen, 



TO MY FRIEND LONG SUNDERED. 79 

Now, long separate and lonely, 
Are no more as then. 

Fare thee well ! I could not greet thee 

After darker change. 
Let it be enough to meet thee 

Now not wholly strange. 

November, 1839. 



80 THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. 



THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. 

The allusion, in the fourth stanza, to the startling emp- 
tiness of the hovel from which one of those poor people, 
■who are just suffered to live in this world, has gone to 
another, will be recognized in full force b}' any one who 
has, even once in his life, looked in upon such a sight. I 
have seen, on untwisting the string from the nail and push- 
ing open the crazy door, literally almost no relics but the 
handful of ashes upon the hearth, and the little heap of 
dust, laid out upon the bench, Avaiting to be given back to 
the earth from which it was taken. God help our poor 
brethren ! 

Brother, I am only dust : 
Wherefore wilt thou be unjust? 
Wherefore shake my humble trust 
In our God, my brother? 
There is yet but little day 
That together we shall stay : 
Wherefore jostle me away ? 
Love we one another. 



THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. 81 

I have but this little spot : 
From my poor need snatch it not : 
It is all that I have got 
Of this hard world's giving. 
Is there not a room for me, 
Among all God made to be, 
Where to gather, manfully. 
Yet with toil my living ? 

God has given light and air : 
Grudge not thou my little share; 
Lo! it Cometh everywhere, 
We may share together. 
God, Himself, has set me here, 
And, with many a bitter tear, 
I have struggled many a year 
Of rough and wintry weather. 

Let me work, — I ask no more, — 
Till my stint is labored o'er. 
I can never lay up store ; 
None this world will send me. 
When I go, if men look there. 
They will find my place all bare ; 
Nothing but the light and air, 
God was good to lend me. 



82 THE CRY OF THE WRONGED. 

Brother, look at me again : 

Toil has given me many a stain, 

Toil has swollen every vein, 

Yet I am thy brother. 

I am man, as well as thou, 

And our Lord has crossed my brow, 

Calling me God's child, and how 

Wilt thou call me other ? 

Let me stay until He call : 
Let me stay till evening fall, 
If so long T must be thrall, 
Earth's hard labor plying. 
When thou comest to take share 
In my cold bed, thou wilt there 
Grant my claim, and little care 
Near the poor man lying. 

December, 1846. 



A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 83 



A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 

On the glorious Birthday morning, 
All the church is dressed in green ; 
Loud are heard the holy anthems, 
Sweetest prayers go up between. 

He that lay in lowly manger, 
Now is known as Heaven's King ; 
What but angels sang, aforetime. 
Now have men been taught to sing : 

" God have glory, in the highest : 
Peace on earth, good-will towards men 
Over all the tide of ages, 
Ever now as it was then." 

After prayers and chant all ended, 
Then the priest begins to preach : 
In God's name he speaketh plainly, 
For God's sake lie loveth each. 



84 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 

" Lo ! " he saith, " the Lord of Glory, 
Born and cradled in a stall! 
Sure He had but scanty welcome, 
Seeing He was Lord of all. 

" Yet, in sooth, He sought no other, 
Nor to earth for homage came ; 
Here He took the form of servant ; 
Here He bared the cheek to shame. 

" Not of this world was His kingdom : 
He lived not at monarch's cost : 
He sought not the known and honored, 
But He came to seek the lost : 

" Lost from out the world's long annals. 
For they came of humble kin : 
Lost from out the Book of Heaven, 
For their life was led in sin. 

" Thus the poor, and thus the sinner. 
Found the Lord beside their door : 
Heard His blessed words of comfort, 
Such as no man spake before. 

" Let our thoughts, this day, my brethren. 
Seek the poor, by men forgot; 



A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 85 

Wliom the holy Christ remembered, 
Coming here to share their lot. 

"This' M'orld hath its rich and needy: 
This world hath its high and low : 
On the one side, pomp and worship ; 
On the other, toil and woe. 

" Not forever shall we struggle 
With the trials of this state : 
To be poor, and yet be thankful ; 
To be lowly- willed, if great. 

"Yet a little, and the Judgment: 
Then we change for good or ill : 
Rich or poor shall enter heaven. 
As they did the Father's will. 

" To be rich we may not covet. 
Ye have heard the Saviour say : 
And He chose the lowest station 
When He came to earth this day. 

" He has told us of His kingdom, 
Hardly shall the rich go in ; 
Though the best that this world offers, — 
Power and glory, — wealth may win. 



86 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 

" I will tell a simple story : 
Every day it falleth true ; 
Jesu grant you all, my brethren, 
That it be not so of you. 

" See you there how Dives sitteth, 
Richly clad, at dainty fare ? 
Many servants make obeisance, 
Many guests sit humbly there. 

" Now one cometh, speaking softly, 
' Lazarus is at the gate : 
Waiting, in full mournful fashion, 
That his welcome cometh late. 

" ' For he meekly claimeth kindred, 
Though he is of low degree.' 
Heed the rich man, now, my brethren: 
Scornful answer maketh he : 

" ' Lazarus ? I know no beggars, 
And my kin bear no such name : 
Yet these poor folk have their kindred; 
Bid him go from whence he came.' 

" * Good my lord, the dogs are licking, 
In mere ruth, his running sore ; 



A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 87 

He is modest, and he claimeth 
But the crumbs from off thy floor.' 

" ' Prating varlet ! ' said the rich man, 
' Now what idle knaves have I ! 
Was there none to bid this beggar 
Choose a fitter place to die ? ' 

" He forgot that in God's heaven, 
Righteous poor shall have their share: 
And he thrust him from the threshold, 
Caring nought how he might fare. 

" So the servants laid the beggar 
Just before another's gate ; 
Coming back, with due obeisance. 
At their master's side to wait. 

" Soon the poor man died, full godly, 
And with saints he went to dwell : 
Next the rich man died, and, after, 
Lifted up his eyes in hell ; 

" And afar he saw the poor man. 
As he lay in Abraham's breast; 
And, from out his place of torment. 
Prayed towards that blissful rest. 



88 A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 

" 'T was but for a drop of water : 
Yet his boon he could not win : 
God had set a gulf, forever, 
'Twixt the two that were not kin. 

" For the words of dreadful judgment, 
Christ hath told us what they be : 
' I was hungry, sick, and naked, 
And ye had no care of me.' 

" Then shall they make forward answer, 
That on earth had Him forgot : 
' Lord, when saw we Thee an-hungered. 
Sick, and naked, and cared not ? ' 

" Christ shall say, ' These poor and wretched, 
Wliose meek claim ye put aside, 
I do own them as my brethren. 
And in them was I denied. 

" ' When ye saw me not, nor heard me. 
It was I put up the claim : 
I lay pining at the threshold, 
For they sought you in my name.' 



" Let us, then, confess Christ's brother, 
Lest we claim another kin : 



i 



A CHRISTMAS SERMON. 89 

Then, before the gate of heaven, 
He shall bid us enter in. 

" Glory, worship, love, and service, 
To the blessed One in Three : 
As it was in the beginning, 
Is, and evennore shall be ! " 



90 BEFORE MORNS. 



BEFORE MORNS.* 

Stay not at the open door : 
Hear the soft pipes calling sweetly ; 
Bow thy head to enter meetly ; 
It is just the Prayers before. 
Now, in secret prayer to heaven, 
Set thy knees upon the floor : 
Humbly wait till God has given 
That He gives forevermore ; 
"Welcome to bright youth and maiden, 
To the worn and very heavy laden. 
To the wounded and the sore. 
To His children He comes hither ; 
His fair glory fills this place ; 
Earth-born things, earth's day will wither ; 
But fresh life grows in God's gifts of grace. 

He will bless thee : ask Him lowly ; 
Let thine heart be open wide : 

* May we not commonly say " Morns " and " Eves " in our 
own tongue, for our Church-services ? 



BEFORE MORNS. 91 

But bethink thee, naught unholy, — 
Lust, — dark hatred, — base sloth, — 

pride, — 
May thy heart hold fast, or slowly, 
Sadly, He will turn aside ; 
Thou wilt be unjustified. 

Has thy heart before Him bended ? 
Keep not to thyself, alone ; 
Let thy voice with these be blended : 
For the world these make their moan 
That God's grace may far be thrown : 
And till this great hour is ended. 
Count all others as thine own. 



92 THE PALMER. 



THE PALMER AT THE WAYSIDE, 
RESTING. 

What we once lost, may we ever have back ; 
That brightest, that one brightest thing, of our 

all; 
Whose Avant has so often made sunshine look 

black, 
And turned our writhed faces, in tears, to the 
wall ? 

Maiden's fair name? Or the young cheek's 

pure shame ? 
Or man's trusty faith, or his quick will to dare ? 
Or love, that to woman and man is the same ; 
What, lost, chills earth's warmth, and takes life 

from its air? 

No ! — We may never more see what we lost. 
Though standing, with backward look, all the 

short day. 
Another may wear it, or haply have tost. 
Unknowing its worth, what we mourn for, away. 



TEE PALMER. 93 

Nay, — what we lost, that can never be, moi-e ; 
But broken, or trampled, or sullied, or torn, 
No likeness will be of the look it once wore. 
Save that in our poor hearts so faithfully borne. 

Maiden, untaught, yet, that torn hearts will cling, 
And man, proudly choosing to doubt that which 

seems. 
Oh, never, to you, may the one brightest thing 
Be that which then only in memory gleams ! 

Bitter to think, and most bitter to yearn! 

Ah ! bitter to know that our hand was too slack ! 

With naught, then, but praying for meek hearts, 

to learn 
That dear things, once lost, we shall never have 

back ! 

If, then, in tenderness God after give 

Some new priceless thing, with more wise heed 

to wear, 
(For hearts must still love, or be dead while 

they live,) 
Then leave to the past what was lightly lost 

there. 

AugTist 7, 1862. 



94 THE BISHOP BOUND. 



THE BISHOP BOUND. 

[After a missionary bishop had been sent out to Jeru- 
salem, by the English Church, a great storm -was raised in 
England, because he suffered some members of the supersti- 
tious and decrepid Eastern Church, in the midst of which 
he stood, to learn the Gospel of him.] 

" Necessity is laid upon me." 

Ye tell me that I must not preach 
The Gospel to these men, 
A^d if it struggles up to speech, 
Must choke it clown — and then ? — 

I may stand here, with dimming eyes, 
And watch the world abroad ; 
For what ? — Lest they, in any wise, 
Should catch the truth of God. 

They have " Most Holy Lords " to reign 
Where poor Apostles wrought : 
* Shall " Right Divine " God's work restrain 
And bring His Faith to nought? 



THE BISHOP BOUND. 95 

Can tapers, robes, and painted saints, 
And chant of old-time words 
Save, more than flowers that sunlight paints, 
Or out-door song of birds ? 

If living faith in God's own Son 
Alone true life can give, 
Shall I undo what God has done, 
Nor bid these dead men live ? 

The winds are His, as well as I, 
And, as their quick feet flit, 
They will not let the message die 
But men shall hear of it. 

Could ye stand by me in my need, 
"When the last Judge is set, 
And all is done, of human deed. 
But not accounted, yet ? 

Oh, no ! this breath I breathe, of aii-, 
And shape in words, to-day. 
Must preach His Gospel everywhere. 
Or woe is mine for aye. 
January 15, 1854. 
7 



96 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 



THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 

Thou art to be a priest in holy things ; 

A minister of thy great Maker, God ! 

Oh ! all of earth that to thy earth-heart clings, — 

And all the bribe-gifts that the fair world 

brings, — 
All that the Tempter's voice most sweetly sings, 
Calling thy spirit to come forth, abroad, 
Oh, not for thee, — they must not be for thee ! 
What they have been, no more must ever be. 

In Christ's eternal priesthood thou wilt share, 
To reconcile to God His sinful sons : 
Ambassador for God, thou, too, shalt wear 
His very person, and thy tongue shall dare 
In Christ's stead, to beseech the erring ones. 
Who is enough for this far-reaching work ? 
At whose poor heart doth not the vile worm 

lurk ? 
This priceless trust in earthen case is set : 
Who holds it falls, 'if he do once forget 
In God's gift, only, might and worth are met. 



THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 97 

When, in Christ's name and stead, thou shalt 

beseech. 
His loving Gospel to the others preach. 
And pledges of God's grace sliare forth to 

each ; — 
When other hearts lie open to thine own. 
Eyes trusting look to thee, as on a throne ; — 
Nothing but Christ's rich blood can for thyself 

'atone. 

Bethink thee, well, how one may speak true 

blame 
Of deadly sin and load it thick with shame ; 
One may bear charge for God and take Christ's 

name, 
And yet, at Reckoning, may be cast off, 
A woe to loving ones, to fiends a scoff. 
But oh, what deeper loss shall his be, then. 
Who, of his priesthood, made a lure to men ! 
Who drew in weaker souls, and led them wrong : 
His Gospel but a witching, wicked song ! 
Where, out of God's great love, shall that bad 

wretch belong ! 

Lift up thy fiiith beyond the inner sky 
Where, in deep peace, God ever sits on high : 



98 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 

Amid all sounds which meet there in His 

praise, — 
Which worlds and hosts, cherubs and seraphs 

raise 
To Him, far off and near. Ancient of Days, 
One, only God, thrice holy Three in One, 
Beyond time's death, as ere time was begun, 
There He that calls thee in dread stillness sits. 
While, flashing everywhere, high, glorious music 

flits. 

To Him the rain-drop, plaslnng on the sea, 
The winged seed wafted from the forest-tree, 
The insect's gaspings, and the sun's swift ray 
Kindling up countless atoms in its way. 
Each after each, to bring to earth the day, 
A.11, all are heard, — all things are heard, — 

yet He 
Hears thy thoughts moving in the midst of thee. 
Let not the busy world, with its loud din, 
Let not the sweet, enticing calls of sin. 
Let nothing draw thine ear from God's still voice 

within ! 

He sees thee all ; the flashing of an eye ; 

The changing cheek ; the bosom swelling high ; 



THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 91) 

Yea, the first impulse of the peaceful blood, 
Ere, with fell passion's surge, it rushes to its 

flood. 
He sees the little pictures spread within 
Thy mind's deep chambers, where no eye can 

win : 
As if no other thing on earth's smooth face, 
But thou, alone, in clearest light had place, 
As if He looked on thee and thee alone, 
Thus open standest thou : thus seen, thus 

known. 
Look not on wrong, nor let the Tempter dare 
To find a back-way up into thy heart, 
And open all his cursed, tempting ware 
To bargain with thee for thy better part. 
Thou hast no secrets that are hid from God; 
Thine inmost places by His feet are trod : 
Hast thou sin, there ? it lies before His sight : 
Die, if thou must, but cast it from thee, quite ! 

If thou hast ever taken gifts of Hell 

And then repented, and hast thrown them out. 

And swept all clean (while bloody tear-drops 

fell) 
And scattered holy balms, the place about ; 
Search yet again; thou knowest but too well 



100 THE PRIEST THAT MUST BE. 

If thine own hand have somewhere laid away 
Some sin that penitence might overlook, 
To come to light, some time, and draw astray 
Thy weaker thoughts, or, at the Dreadful Day, 
To stand revealed, and damn thee from God's 
Book. 

The Spirit, — like the wind that wears no form 
In wooing summer-breath, or ruthless storm, — 
Breaks up the dark heart's strongly-frozen deep, 
Or lays the whirl of earthly lusts to sleep. 
He, only, is thy strength and warmth and light : 
Trust well thy faith in Him, where faith is 
sight. 
Half, Sept., 1846: half, July 29, 1863. 



A COMMUNING WITH GOD. 101 



A COMMUNING WITH GOD 

BEFORE ENTERING INTO HOLY ORDERS. 

What hands will now be laid upon me, Lord? 
Whose spirit breathed, whose blessed influence 

given ? 
By whom shall 1 be sent to bear The Word — 
That precious load — along the path to Heaven ? 

Almighty God! Eternal God! 'T is Thou, 
That in Thy chosen servant here dost stand : 
Prostrate before Thy footstool, lo, I bow. 
To seek the dread commission at Thy hand. 

O God, the Father ! from whose quickening 

breath 
All beings move, each in his proper round, 
Whose arm sustains, above the abyss of Death, 
What else would sink within that dread pro- 
found, 



102 A COMMUNING WITH GOD. 

Give me, Great Parent, that enkindling power 
To wake anew, deep in my brother's soul, 
The Godlike nature, that, in man's first hour, 
Made the dim part reflect the perfect whole. 

O God, the Son ! who, with unbounded .lirace, 
Tookest up manhood, healedst the gaping wound, 
And barest to the Father's dwelling-place 
The dymg saved, the long-lost wanderer found, 

Give unto me that ready neighbor-love. 
That guideth where the wounded heart to find ; 
And give me Thy blest unction from above. 
With holy balm the bleeding soul to bind. 

God, the Holy Ghost! that hallowest all 
Thy faithful people, and to every truth 
Upwards their still advancing steps dost ball. 
Till w^eary Age rests, smiling back on youth. 

Hallow my life, that I may ever be 
Worthy to stand at my King's festal board ; 
And teach me truth, that, bemg tauglit by 
Thee, 

1 may show others where all good is stored. 



A COMMUNING WITH GOD. KU'i 

One only God! whose works and ways are one, 
Grant me with single heart to do Thy w^ill, 
Make me wrong thoughts and words and ways 

to shun, 
In Thy one, mystic realm my place to fill. 

Keith Hall, Bermudas, 
November 29, 1842, at night. 



104 THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 

Are there not many that remember (who can forget?) 
that scene in the Sikh war, — also in India, — when the dis- 
tant gleam of arms and flash of friendly uniform was descried 
by a little exhausted army among the hills, and the Scotch 
pipes struck up " Oh ! but ye were lang a-comin /" (Lachry- 
mamne teneatis, amici? None of us, that have much Scot- 
tish blood, can keep our eyes from moistening.) The incident 
in the present case may not be historical, but it is true to na- 
ture, and intrinsically probable, which is all that poetrj' needs, 
in that respect. 

Oh ! that last day in Lucknow fort ! 
We knew that it was the last ; 
That the enemy's mines had crept surely in, 
And the end was coming fast. 

To yield to that foe meant worse than death ; 
And the men and we all worked on : 
It was one day more, of smoke and roar, 
And then it would all be done. 

There was one of us, a Corporal's wife, 
A fair, young, gentle thing, 



THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. 105 

Wasted with fever in the siege, 
And her mind was wandering. 

She hiy on the ground, in her Scottish plaid, 

And I took her head on my knee ; 

" When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," 

she said, 
" Oh ! please then waken me." 

She slept like a child on her father's floor, 

In the flecking of woodbine-shade, 

When the house-dog sprawls by the half-open 

door, 
And the mother's wheel is stayed. 

It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, 
And hopeless waiting for death ; 
But the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, 
Seemed scarce to draw her breath. 

/ sank to sleep, and I had my dream 
Of an .l]iiglish village-lane. 
And uall and garden; — a sudden scream 
lironght me back to the roar again. 

Th«*»e Jessie Brown stood listening. 
And then a broad gladness broke 



106 THE RELIEF OF L UCKNO W. 

All over her face, and she took my hand 
And drew me near and spoke : 

"■ The Highlanders ! Oh ! dmna ye hear ? 
The slogan far awa ? 
The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel ; 
It's the grandest o' them a'. 

" God bless thae bonny Highlanders ! 
We 're saved ! We 're saved ! " she cried ; 
And fell on her knees, and thanks to God 
Poured forth, like a full flood-tide. 

Along the battery-lme her cry 

Had fallen among the men : 

And they started ; for they were there to die ; 

Was life so near them, then ? 

They listened, for life ; and the rattling fire 
Far off, and the far-off roar 
Were all ; — and the Colonel shook his head, 
And they turned to their guns once more. 

Then Jessie said, " That slogan 's dune ; 
But can ye no hear them,^noo, 
' The Campbells are comin ' ? It 's no a dream ; 
Our succors hae broken through ! " 



THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW. 107 

"VVe heard the roar and the rattle afar, 

But the pipes we could not hear ; 

So the men pUed their work of hopeless war, 

And knew that the end A\-as near. 

It was not long ere it must be heard ; 
A shrilling, ceaseless sound ; 
It was no noise of the strife afar. 
Or the sappers underground. 

It luas the pipes of the Highlanders, 
And now they played 'Auld Lang Syne : " 
It came to our men, like the voice of God, 
And they shouted along the Ime. 

And they wept and shook one another's hands. 
And the women sobbed in a crowd ; 
And every one knelt down where we stood, 
And we all thanked God aloud. 

That happy day, when we welcomed them. 
Our men put Jessie first ; 
And the General took her hand, and cheers 
From the men, like a volley, burst. 

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed, 
Marcliing round and round our line ; 



108 THE RELIEF OF LUC KNOW. 

And our joyful cheers were broken with tears, 
For the pipes played " Auld Lang Syne,'' 

Saturday and Sunday nights, 
January 2 and 3, 1858. 



THE PA^T THAT IS NOT OURS. 109 



THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS. 

Let us forget the Past ! 

It may have been both bright and dear 

Another world is here ; 

It was not made to last ; 

Let us forget : 't is past ! 

Take, if you will, once more, 
The fading memories in hand : 
In old thought once more stand ; 
Then fling them from the shore ! 
Ours they can be no more. 

Youth, to our far-off eyes. 

Seems glad with beams of better light: 

It only cheats the sight : 

There were spring's changeful skies : 

Let us not turn our eyes ! 

Here is our own fair time : 

Here God has spread His blessed day ; 



no THE PAST THAT IS NOT OURS. 

The fresh breeze comes this way ; 

This is a better clime : 

Why shall we mourn that time ? 

We shall go farther, yet: 

And bear our M'ayside harvest dried 

Our friends shall go beside ; 

The Past we may forget : 

Our way leads forward, yet. 

July 30. 1863. 



DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING 111 



DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. 

(for music.) 

Stay, flitting soul ! 

Wilt thou not longer stay? 

Why dost thou hasten on that weary way, 

Beyond these quiet realms of day, 

Into the unknown land, where dim mists roll? 

Look back ! Look back 

Along the well-known track. 

Stretching far backward to dear scenes of spring ! 

There childhood's pretty memories lie : 

The flowing hair, the beamy eye. 

The bounding step, and joyous, ringino: cry. 

See the glad hopes that erst 

The child's true spirit nurst, 

By day ui visions bright. 

In whispering dreams by night ; 

Dost thou not yearn towards them, as we sing ? 

And youth's first real strife 



112 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. 

With tlie breasting waves of life, 

When strength was in the arm, 

And the heart was proud and warm, 

And the eye looked forth, without alarm. 

For all that time could bring. 

See, see those sunny days ! 

And let our soft dirge raise 

Bright tempting scenes before thine eye to fling ! 

Look ! Look ! This world is bright ; 

But now thou loved'st its light ; 

Why dost thou turn away thy sight, 

As from an evil thing ? 

Come to us back ! Come to us back ! 

Let not our sorrowing spirits lack 

The fellowship to which our strong loves cling ! 

[ Weeping stillness.^ 

Is it so hard for thee to linger yet 

Where thou hast been at home these many 

years ? 
Why should these long-familiar lendings fret 
Now, more than ever, that thou fain wilt set 
This pleasant form aside, that we with tears 
Must wash ; then put away 
Out of our sight forever and for aye ? 



DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. 113 

Come to us back ! Come to us back ! 
Come, yet a little, to our fond hearts back ! 

\_StiUness.'] 

Why, why would'st thou forget 
These once-loved voices, that, in every tone, 
In days gone by, sweet influence have thrown 
Around thee, answering warmly to thine own ? 
Wilt thou not listen ? Hast thou no regret ? 
Wilt thou still forward, where is all unknown ? 
Wilt thou still forward? 

And alone ? 
Oh, wilt thou venture such a path alone ? 
Turn ! Turn ! Come back ! Come back ! 
Before thee how it gathers black ! 
Return, where all thou boldest dear are met ! 

\_Stillness.'\ 

Thou loiterest still ; 

We see these casements fill 

With the soft-fallinfr, gentle mist 

Where thou art looking out, once more, 

To see the scene long-known and loved before. 



114 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARllNG. 

Hist ! Hist ! 
This sternly-closed door 
From which glad words were wont to pour, 
Is it forever closed ? Will it not open more ? 
Is it in vain we list ? 
We mark, we mark its fixed leaves 
Tremble, as the soul still heaves 
Against them feebly, as in doubt 
To open yet to us that wait without ; 
Come, then ! Oh, come ! 

But that faint, smothered cry! 

Ah, smothered strife of agony ! 

Nay ! we will let this weary body die ! 

Nay ! flitting spirit, nay ! 

AVe will not have thee stay ; 

Go forward gladly on thy way ; 

Our songs shall cheer thee as thou goest home. 

Farewell ! Farewell ! Close we these open 

eyes. 
No more wilt thou be looking ibrth, this way. 
Who once hast caught, afar, the light of Paradise. 



DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. H') 

Our love shall give this form to long defray, 
That, when thou comest back for it, shall rise 
A glorious body, at the Judgment-Day. 

On ! On ! thou blessed soul I See Jesus wait ; 

Thy lamp of faith is trimmed, but all is light ; 

The path leads forward, to the open gate ; 

He waits thee smiling, and the way is bright. 

On, faithful soul ! 

Our swelling songs shall roll 

Sweet, melancholy surges here behind. 

That full of memory thou shalt find, 

As one, slow-sailing from the outward shore 

Of a dear land oft wandered o'er, 

Hears, in still night, its wave-voice on the 

wind. 
Thou art quitting, now, the verge 
Of this long-beloved land. 
And mayest listen, still, the surge 
Heave up upon the strand. 
On! On! yet let our song 
Still go with thee along, 
'Till it is lost amid the strain 
Of Christ's glorious spirit-train 
As another soul they gain 



116 DIRGE TO A SOUL DEPARTING. 

To sweet Paradise, no more to live, no more to 

love, as here on earth, in vain. 
Our earth-born dirges cease : 
Pass, Christian soul, in peace ! 
Peace that Christ giveth : 

PEACE ! 

January, 1846. 



THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. 117 



THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. 

" Oh, this long, dull life at sea : 
Day lagging into lagging night ! " 
The maiden sang, in the failing light : 
" Forever sailing this sullen sea ! 

Father, make sail, and leave me at land ! 

1 see it broad on the larboard hand : 
O Father, this life is death to me ; 
Forever holding the drowsy line. 

Or drawing it drowsily in from the deep ! 
Thou art old : but youth, bright you tljis mine 
Oh ! wdiy must I lean here, ever, and weep ? 
Make sail for land ! It is nigh at hand : 
Make sail for land ! Make sail for land ! 
Once let me in God's fair garden stand, 
And my slow blood shall leap. 

" I see no land, but a fog-cloud low : 
Long hours have we eyed it, looming so : 



118 THE MAIDEN OUTSIDE THE WORLD. 

No current sets here : land is not near : 

Be, Child, as thou wert, this short while ago ; 

Think not of the land that thou dost not know ! " 

Thus many a young heart, on Life's sea, 
Will long for the far land under the lee ; 
And many a heart that time has tried 
Will strive from the far land to keep it wide. 



THE YEAR IS GONE! 119 



THE YEAR IS GONE ! 

Where art thou, O lost Year ? 

I tread upon the scattered leaves, 

The way is drear, my lone heart grieves. 

I see .thy traces everywhere ; 

These leaves once decked thy golden hair : 

I find thy playthings here ; 

But oh ! thou art not near. 

The bright and golden grain — 
Men have it all long garnered in. 
Here spreads the frosted stubble, thin, 
O'er the wide fields whereon it stood, 
Where thou didst trip, in playful mood, 
Brin^ino; the sun or rain. 
I seek for thee in vain. 

Is this thy merry brook, 

Whose gurgling used to please thine ear? 

Oh ! my once happy, thoughtless Y'^ear ! 



120 THE YEAR IS GONE! 

Beneath its solid, icy roof, 
How silent, now, it bides aloof ! 
Lost is the frolic look 
That from thy smile it took. 

Beneath the forest tall 

No more I feel thy glowing breath, 

Or watch the calm, too bright for death, 

When thou at noon didst fall asleep. 

And, what thy hands could no more keep, 

Blossom or nut, would fall, 

Sweet Year ! In vain I call. 

Thy pretty birds are mute, 

That sang with all their little might 

And flashed their bright wmgs in the light : 

And children, fairer still than they, 

Gambol no longer at their play : 

No more the busy foot 

Tramples the soft grass-root. 

Thou wert no more the same 

Wlien once that hectic flush of red 

Too surely on thy fair cheek spread ; 

And, by and by, in silent fold. 

The white robes closed, all still and cold, 



THE YEAR IS GONE! 121 

And when I called thy name, 
No voice or answer came. 

And there was deeper bond 

Than such as various season weaves, 

Of sunny flowers, or buds, or leaves : 

I mourn for many a hope and thought 

That by thy ministry were brought 

Out of the world beyond : 

These made my poor heart fond. 

And I have wrought with thee, 
In pleasant hours, at many a net, 
Of hues, as when the sun doth set. 
"We stretched the strands out very wide, 
But each too soon was thrust aside : 
New schemes thou broughtest me 
Of what could never be. 

Thou knewest all I willed ; 
How many purposes I made : 
Into thine ear the whole was said, 
How I would rue the ill deeds done, 
How guilty temptings I would shun. 
Now thy warm life is chilled. 
What, of these plans, fulfilled ! 



122 THE YEAR IS GONE! 

lost Year, be thou past ! 

Too soon the truant heart and will 
All this clear sky of life would fill 
With that unprofitable haze, 
That makes half nights of working days 
Forward my way is cast ; 

1 rest not till the last. 

1849. 



A ROBIN'S SONG. 123 



A ROBIN'S SONG, AFTER LONG WINTER. 

What ear and eye, in the spring's first days, 
Is not drawn to that happy songster's hiys ? 
Quick, — glad, — strong, — 
And then so wondrous- wondrous-feat. 
More wondrous as more long, 
It seemed from luider some brooding heat 
Gladness and song and skill had sprung 
In a flash of spring-life, fresli and young ; 
Then died as snddenly, the glad skilled song 
once suno-. 



124 BURGER'S LENORE. 



• BURGER'S LENORE. 

Lenora rose at morning-red, 

From bitter dreams awaking : 

" Art faithless, William, or art dead, 

So long thy love forsaking ? " 

He went with royal Frederic's might, 

To battle in Prague's famous fight : 

But fi'om the war-field gory 

No post has brought his story. 

The King and Empress, tired, at last, 
Of arms so vainly wielded. 
Alike aside their rage have cast, 
And to a truce have yielded. 
Now each glad host with sing-song rang, 
With beating drum and cling and clang ; 
And, decked with many a garland, 
Came homeward from the far land. 

And over all, all over all. 
From street and lane and alley, 



BURGER'S LENORE. 125 

81iout old and young their jubel-call, 
And round the home-march rally. 
Praise God ! the child and goodwife cried ; 
Welcome ! said many a longing bride ; 
But, for Lenore, no meeting: 
No kiss, or tender greeting. 

Each way she flew, the ranks all through, 
But, though all names were spoken, 
No one that came her lover knew. 
And no one could give token. 
And when the hosts passed onward were, 
She tore her glossy, raven hair; 
Upon the greensward sinking, 
With bitter woe past thinking. 

The mother kneeled upon her knee ; 
" God, pity my poor daughter ! 
My darling child, what is 't with thee ? " 
And in her arms she caught her. 
" Ah, mother, mother, gone is gone ! 
Now let the world and all be gone ! * 
No pity dwells in Heaven : 
Woe ! woe ! my heart is riven ! " 



* Whevevei' a final word is repeated, the original has the 
same construction. 



126 BURGER'S LENORE. 

" Help, God ! oh, help ! look gently on ! 
Cliild, child ! oh, say, ' Our Father ! ' 
What God does, that is sure well done : 
God, judge not ; spare us rather ! " 
" O mother, mother, mockery ! 
God has not, sure, well-done to me. 
My jjrayers, ah ! what passed they for ? 
Now nought is left to pray for ! ' 

" Help, God ! whoe'er the Father knows, 

Knows He the children lovetli ; 

The Holy Sacrament such woes 

As thine, my child, removeth." 

" mother, mother, little vent 

My woe would find in sacrament. 

No sacrament can solder 

Forms that in death-damps moulder." 

" Hear, child ! How if the perjured one, 

When long in far Hungary, 

Had all his ties of troth undone, 

Some newer love to marry ? 

Fling off his heart, my child ! by sni 

In tlie long game he cannot win ; 

When soul and body sever, 

This deed shall sting forever " 



BURGER'S LENORE. 127 

" O mother, mother, gone is gone ! 

Forsaken is forsaken ; 

Death, death ! Come death, and I have won ! 

Why did I ever waken ? 

Go out, forever out, my light ! 

Die out, die out, in woe and night ! 

No pity dwells in Heaven ; 

Woe ! woe ! my soul is riven ! " 

"' Help, God ! To judgment enter not : 

Tlie [)Oor child's heart is broken : 

She utters, now, she knows not what : 

Oh, count not what is spoken ! 

My child, forget this workVs distress, 

And think on God, and blessedness : 

So to thy heart forsaken 

A spouse shall yet be taken." 

" mother ! What is blessedness ? 
Oh I what is hell, my mother ? 
With him, with him, is blessedness ; 
And hell without him, mother. 
Go out, forever out, my light ! 
Die out, die out, in woe and night ! 
Without him, earth and heaven 
Li misery were even." 



128 BLRGER'S LEXORE. 

Thus mad despair within her brain, 

And in her veins all revelled, 

Till e'en at God's all-irracious reiirn, 

Her impious scorn she levelled. 

She wrung her hands and beat her breast 

Until the sun went down to rest : 

Till up to heaven's liigh chamber 

The golden stars 'gan clamber. 

And then without, hark ! tramp, tramp, tramp ! 

A horse's footsteps sounded; 

Then on the steps, with heavy stamp, 

The clanking rider bounded. 

And hark I and hark ! the door-bell ring, 

All gently, softly, cling-ling-ling. 

Then, through the door-leaves uttered, 

Just these quick questions fluttered : 

" Holla ! holla ! undo, my child ! 
Wak'st thou, my love, or sleepest ? 
Has time thy love for me beguiled ? 
And smilest thou, or weepest ? " 
" Ah, William ! Thou, so late at night ? 
I 've wept and waked, in weary plight ; 
Oh ! bitter woe I 've tasted. 
Whence hast' thou hither hasted ? " 



BURGER'S LENORE. 129 

" Near midniglit 't is, we saddle steed ; 

From Boehmen I rode hither : 

Ere I could mount, 't was late indeed, 

And we go back together." 

" O William, first a moment stay : 

The blast roars through the hawthorn spray, 

Come to my arms, heart-dearest ! 

Here no cold wind thou fearest." 

" Through hawthorn spray let fierce blasts roar, 

And ravage, helter-skelter! 

The wild steed paws, and clinks the spur ; 

I dare not here seek shelter. 

Come, dress thee : spring and swmg, with 

speed, 
Behind me, here, upon my steed. 
A hundred miles I take thee. 
This day my bride to make thee." 

" Alas ! a hundred miles would'st thou 

Bear me, this day, to bridal ? 

Hark, hark ! the clock is clanging now ; 

Eleven struck: 'T is idle!" 

" Look far ; look near ; the moon shines 

clear ; 
We and the dead ride fast, my dear ; 



130 BURGERS LENORE. 

I gage, ere night's at highest, 
Thou in thy bride-bed liest." 

" Say on, where is thy chamber, dear ? 

What bride-bed dost thou tender ? " 

'"'• Still, cool and small ; far, far from here ; 

Six wide boards and two slender." 

" Hast room for me ? " " For thee and me 

Come, dress thee : mount ; I stay for thee. 

The marria"re-";uests have waited : 

We must not be belated." 

Fairly she dressed her, sprang and swung 
Herself to horse behind him ; 
Fast to the well-loved rider clung. 
And with white arms entwined him. 
Then hurtling off, with leap and bound. 
At whistling speed they scoured tlie ground, 
Till horse and rider panted, 
And sparks and dust far slanted. 

On this and on the other hand. 

How flew the plains and ridges ; 

Hillock and rock and meadow-land ; 

How thundered all the bridges ! 

" My love, dost fear ? The moon shines clear : 



BURGERS LENORE. 131 

Hurrah ! The dead ride fast, ray dear ! * 
My love, dost fear the dead men ? " 
" Ah, 110 ! yet leave the dead men ! " 

What clang and song swept there along. 

Where the foul ravens flaunted ? 

Hark ! death-bell clang I Hark ! funeral-song ! 

" Bear on the dead ! " is chanted. 

And nearer drew a funeral-train : 

Coffin and bier came on, amain : 

Their song the dark quire pitches 

Like the frogs' cry in ditches. 

" Nay, bury after midnight-tide. 

With clang and song and weeping: 

I bear me home my fair young bride : 

Come to our merry-keeping. 

Come clerk ! come here ! your quire all bring. 

Come all, the bridal-song to sing. 

Come, priest, the blessing say us 

Ere we in bride-bed lay us." 

Ceased clang and song ; the bier was gone : 
They came as they were bidden, 
And, hurry-skurry, trampled on 
Fast as the steed w^as ridden. 



132 BURGERS LENOIiE. 

And ever on, with leap and bound, 

At whistling speed they scoured the ground ; 

Both horse and rider panted. 

And sparks and dust far slanted. 

How flew, on right, how flew, on left, 

Hills, trees, and hedged spaces ! 

How flew, on left and right and left, 

Towns, cities, dwelling-places ! 

" My love, dost fear ? The moon shines 

clear : 
Hurrah ! The dead ride well, my dear ; 
My love, dost fear the dead men ? " 
" Ah ! let them rest, the dead men ! " 

See there ! see there ! On gallows-height, 
Dance round the wheel's curst swivel, 
Half-seen within the moon's pale light, 
Spectres, in airy revel. 
" Sasa ! ye spectres. Here ! come here ! 
Come, spectres, come, and follow near. 
Our wedding reels to number 
Ere we lie down to slumber." 

And lo ! the spectres, rush, rush, rush ! 
Behind the wil4 train hurtle. 



BURGERS LENORE. 133 

As whirls the storm-wmd's sudden gush 
Through withered leaves of myrtle. 
And on and on, with leap and bound, 
At whistling speed they scoured the ground ; 
Both horse and rider panted, 
And sparks and dust far slanted. 

How flew the scenes in moonlight spread ! 

How into farness flitted ! 

And how, their places overhead. 

The sky and planets quitted! 

"• My love, dost fear ? The moon shines 

clear ; 
Hurrah ! The dead ride well, my dear ; 
My love, dost fear the dead men ? " 
" Ah, woe ! Let rest the dead men ! " 

" Steed, steed ! methinks the cock crows 

there ; 
Soon will the sands be wasted ; 
Steed, steed ! I scent the morning air ; 
Haste, as thou hast not hasted ! 
'T is o'er, 't is o'er ! Our course is o'er ! 
The chamber stands with open door ; 
The dead ride wondrous races : 
Here, here, we find our places." 



134 BURGER'S LENORE. 

Against an iron churchyard door, 

The furious courser battered : 

Its clamps fell loose, the shock before, 

And post and bar were shattered. 

Its clanking leaves wide open flew, 

And o'er the graves the train swept through. 

Gravestones were seen to glimmer 

Round in the moon's pale shimmer. 

See, see ! An instant scarce can flit. 
Ere, hoo ! a fearful wonder ! 
The rider's flesh, all bit by bit, 
Like cinders fell asunder. 
Like kernel bare, without the hull, 
His head became a naked skull ; 
His body shrunk and narrow. 
With hour-glass and with arrow. 

Snorted the steed, and madly reared ; 

Fierce fiery flashes spurted ; 

Then hey ! sank down and disappeared. 

And she lay there deserted. 

A liowl, a howl from out the lift ! 

A yell from forth each grave's deep rift ! 

Lenora's spirit shivers : 

'Twixt death and life it quivers. 



BURGER'S LESORE. 135 

Now featly danced, in moonlight-glance, 

All round about in mazes, 

The spectre-forms a fetter-dance. 

And howled in such-like phrases ; 

" Be meek, though heart should break in 

twain, 
Nor dare thy God in heaven arraign. 
Thy dust to this still city! 
God show thy soul his pity ! " 

June, 1846. 



lo6 THE DARREN FIELD. 



THE BARREN FIELD. 

Here I labor, weak and lone, 
Ever, ever sowing seed; 
Ever tending what is sown : 
Little is my gain, indeed. 

Weary day and restless night 
Follow in an endless round ; 
Wastes my little human might : 
Soon my place will not be found. 

Why so stubborn is my field? 
Why does little fruit appear ? 
What an hundred-fold should yield. 
Now goes barren all the year. 

Rank weeds crowd and jostle there. 
Nodding vainly in tlie sun : 
But the plants, for which I care, 
I may tell them, one by one. 



THE BAR HEN FIELD. 137 

After all the sun and ram, 
Weak and yellow drooping things, 
From the lean earth, turned in vain, 
These are all my labor wrings ! 

Oh, my Lord, the field is Thine : 
Why do I, with empty pride. 
Call the little garden mine. 
When my work is Thine, beside? 

If I claim it for my own. 

Thou wilt give me its poor gain ; 

And, at harvest, I, alone. 

May bring fruits to Thee in vain. 

If I give myself to Thee 
For Thy work, all poor and mean. 
As Thou pleasest it shall be, 
If I much or little glean : 

Yet Thou wilt not spurn my toil, 
Or my offering, at the last. 
If, from off this meagre soil. 
At Thy feet my all is cast. 



138 THE BARREN FIELD. 

Other work for man is none, 
But to do the Master's will ; 
Wet with rain, or parched with sun, 
Meekly I Thy garden till. 

April 28, 1849. 



CHRIST S LEGACY. 139 



CHRIST'S LEGACY. 

Who deems that Holy Church has lost 
The priceless gift the Saviour gave ? 
Or, as an idle bauble, tost 

Beneath the curst world's hungry wave. 
Her keys that, all this wide world o'er, 
Oped to man's want God's spirit-store ? 
That now the Kingdom is but earth alone 
Where man's poor sight and wisdom seek their 
own ? 

Who deems that hidden Paradise, — 

Its sweet cool shades, its living streams, 
Its lustrous air, from seraph's eyes 
Radiant with interwoven beams. 
And the eternal Light divine 
Filling up all with changeless shine, — 
That these, and converse with the dwellers there, 
To men in spirit are not free as air ? 



140 CHRIST S LEGACY. 

That His blest kingdom, — which, Christ said, 

Should ever stand while earth doth stand, 
And, when the last flames, fierce and red, 
Shoidd melt and burn up sea and land, 
Transfigured through those fires should glow 
Thenceforth no earthliness to know, — 
That this hath not one, only, changeless frame, 
One as the Lord : on earth, in heaven, the same ? 

Or that the Body of the Lord, 

Tlie Godhead dwelling in the flesh, — 
Is not, to us, as when that Word 
In human nature dwelt afresh ? 
Or that God's fulness, now, as tlien. 
Doth not inhabit in us men, 
A fulness that in each of us hath place 
Of grace according to our growth m grace ? 

Oh ! is not God the selfsame now 
As when he put on human frame ? 

His Body is the Church : and how 
Is this, his Body, not the same ? 

It is the same where'er Faith is : 

Christ manifests himself in His : 

Where Faith is not, to them is Christ no more 

Indwelling, in the Spirit, as of yore. 



CHRIST'S LEGACY. 141 

This glorious kingdom — rich within, 

And glowing with all spirit-powers — 
There is no cause, but each man's sin. 

If all its treasures be not ours : 
Our priests are gifted with the Word, 
And every member of the Lord 
Hath his own measure of the Holy Ghost : 
In the most humble and obedient, most. 

And in the Spirit, oh, what height 
The feet of faithful men do mount ! 

There glossy slopes flow all with light. 
And vales are rich with stream and fount. 

The pure see God on every side ; 

Them spirits gently serve and guide; 

While earth, to them, is sorrow, shame, and ill, 

The church is heaven on earth, about them still. 

Sweet mysteries to them that love, 
Do lead to that eye hath not seen ; 

An open sky is spread above 

Wherein no cloud hath ever been. 

The Word wells full in every heart ; 

Deep calleth unto deep, apart ; 

And Love, God's being, maketh them all one 

In Him, the Father, who are in the Son. 
1849. 



142 A DIRGE. 



A DIRGE 

ON THE SUBJECT OF A BEAUTIFUL POEM OF A KRIEMD,* 
IN THE GERMAN. 

With a sweet smile the gentle features glisten, 
Tiiongh noiseless death has frozen all below : 
Unconsciously we stoop the head, to listen 
For words that from these open lips shoid<l flow. 
.\long her brow the smooth, dark hair is 

braided ; 
The yielding drapery folds smoothly round : 
And on her breast there lies, but newly faded, 
A token that the hand of love has (bund, 
A lily of the vale, 
Tender and sligiit and pale, 
And in the bosom of its dark leaf shaded. 

This form is mute ! the soul that filled its being 
Taught it to weep, to triumph, and to pray, 
Gave it a skill of loving, hearing, seeing, — 
She that was all to it, — is gone away. 

* Dr. J. L. Tellkampf, member of the Upper House of the 
Germanic representative body of 1848. 



A DIRGE. 143 

This will not speak, but, silent and forsaken, 

It only waits to be restored to dust 

From which for a short moment it was taken: 

Bright time ! but it has passed, as all time must. 

This sweet and pleasant smile 

That Imgers here a while. 

It is the last that fellowship will waken. 

So still it is, there seems to float before us 
A slight strain, — that sweet voice we longed 

to hear : 
Her glad companions in her better chorus 
Pardoning the love that bids her linger near ; 
And while in soft and tender words she singeth 
What, last, those dear lips stood apart to say 
(As one that back, with gentle motion bringeth 
Some slight web that the wind had borne away) 
They give their sister-aid. 
And o'er the soul conveyed 
The melody round every feeling clingeth : 

" Weep not for one soon called to travel yonder 
Ere she loved earth and things of earth too well : 
AVho in this weary wilderness would wander 
Whom Christ had called in His fair house to 
dwell ? 

10 



144 A DIRGE. 

Give ye these relics to the earth's calm keeping ; 
And let her share them to the grass and flowers. 
With a new freshness all this cast form steeping 
And filling up, with newer life, its powers. 
No longer I am bound 
In that close, narrow round ; 
Let smiles break up this darkness of your 
w^eeping." 

The strain is hushed : it was but fancy speaking ; 
Yet may such higher sense be often mine ! 
For what in earth is better worth the seeking 
From our good God, than such a boon divine, 
To walk, as near the imseen confines rounding 
This life of ours from that of spirits blest, 
And hear sweet sounds across the Ihnits bounding, 
Sounds that wake feelings holiest and best ; 
As one that on the shore 
Hears fitfully sweep o'er 
The music from some happy isle resounding? 

Sweet girl ! thou hadst the poet-glance, that 

throw^eth 
Its own bright hues where'er it chance to fall ; 
As the stained glass with mellow beauties 

streweth 



A DIRGE. 145 

All its glance toucheth, giving life to all. 
Tliou knewest, too, the frequent, holy feeling 
That like some gentle creature, in his play, 
Across thy quiet mind came silent stealing, — 
Thou fearedst to move, lest he should start 

away : 
The gentle thought of thee 
Shall in my heart be free, 
Stirring new thoughts and finer ties revealing. 

Schenectady, N. Y., 1841. 



146 A BURIAL-HYMN. 



A BURIAL-HYMN. 

TO BE SUNG ON THE WAY TO THE GRAVE. 

We bring Thee, Lord, this little dust 

To lay in earth away: 
In thy sure watch we meekly trust 

To keep it for the Day. 

Thy will be done ! This dust, all dead, 

Must lose its fairer form, 
And graces in the deep grave shed 

That almost yet are warm. 

We thank Thee for the little while 
Our cliild lived here in love. 

To glad a narrow place with smile 
As from Thy house above. 

And more, oh ! we must thank Thee more 

That dew of upper day 
Baptized his earthly being o'er, 

And spirit hallowed clay. 



TO GOD, MOST HIGH. IV 



TO GOD, MOST HIGH. 

MY Lord, I have but Thee ; 
Other friends are faint and few. 
To myself I am not true ; 
Yet, my God, Thou lovest me. 

1 am poor and have no more 
But Thy love within my heart ; 
Earth shall never tear apart 
That which is my hidden store. 

Many, many doubts and fears, 
I have many pains and cares ; 
But Thou comest, at unawares, 
And 1 see Thee through my tears. 

I would never be my own, 

Nor on friends my heart-strings twine ; 

I do seek to be but Thine, 

And to love but Thee alone. 



148 TO GOD, MOST HIGH. 

Jesus ! while Thy cross I see. 
Though my heart do bleed with woe, 
By those blessed streams I know, 
Blood of Thine was shed for me. 

my Lord ! Be Thou my guide ; 
Let me hold Thee by the hand, 
Then, in drear and barren land, 

1 will seek no friend beside. 

January 7, 1848. 



LOVE DISPOSED OF. 149 



LOVE DISPOSED OF. 

Here goes Love ! Now cut him clear, 

A weight about his neck : 

If he linger longer here, 

Our ship will be a wreck. 

Overboard ! Overboard ! 

Down let him go ! 

In the deep he may sleep, 

Where the corals grow. 

He said he 'd woo the gentle breeze, 

A bright tear in her eye ; 

But she was false or hard to please. 

Or he has told a lie. 

Overboard ! Overboard ! 

Down in the sea 

He may find a truer mind, 

Where the mermaids be. 

He sang us many a merry song 
While the breeze was kind : 



150 TJWE DISPOSED OF. 

But lie has been lamenting long 

The falseness of the wind. 

Overboard ! Overboard ! 

Under the wave 

Let him sing where smooth shells ring 

In the ocean's ,cave. 

He may struggle ; he may weep ; 

We '11 be stern and cold ; 

His grief will find, within the deep, 

More tears than can be told. 

He has gone overboard ! 

We will float on ; 

We shall find a truer wind 

Now that he is gone. 

1839. 



TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 151 



TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 

ON WRITING A TALE OF NEWFOUNDLAND.* 

The parish-priest that hath his charge 

Beside the stormy sea, 

Where howling tempests stalk at large, 

Aiid many an iceberg, as a barge, 

Moors where the shallows be ; 

"Where winter's sky, with sudden gust. 

Is traversed to and fro, 

And storm-clouds, broken up as dust. 

Fill earth all deep with snow. 

Hath much to speak of hardy men 

That face the wild sea-gale, 

And loving hearts made dreary, when 

The waiting eyes must fail. 

That from the cliffs their far search strain 

To see, slow-tolling home again. 

The long-fiimiliar sail 

That shall not come ; for it is tost 

Like drifting weed above the lost, 

* In verse; afterwards given over. See note at the end. 



152 TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 

Who down and down, through soundless deep, 

Have found a pathway, sheer and steep, 

And at the foot shall lie and sleep, 

While long the hamlet's tale 

Lingers upon their unknown fate, 

And, night by night, the fire burns late 

In one sad, silent cot. 

Where wife and children spread their hands 

And cower above the wasting brands, 

And tl»e poor house-dog understands. 

Why they that went come not. 

Often when holy prayers are said 

Beside a new-made grave, 

Some mother waileth for her dead ; 

She never held his heavy head 

And mother's tears upon it shed 

Ere dust to dust she gave. 

He lieth where no foot may tread, 

No little ones may there be led. 

Where long, lank ocean-weeds are spread, 

Beneath the shifting wave. 

Sometimes, before accustomed date, 

A boat comes lonely back, — 

No colors flaunt, in joyful state, 

Above her silent track: 



TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 153 

She bringeth not accustomed freight, 

But hiboreth with some strange weight : 

The air is chill and desolate 

That breathes around her way, 

As from the iceberg, cold and lone, 

A stern, far-reaching chill is thrown 

Abroad upon the day. 

The skipper, from the helm, looks on 

With fixed eye and visage wan. 

And hath no word to say. 

The neighbors, gathered on the beach, 

Gaze wistfully ; and, each to each. 

Breaking long pauses in their speech. 

Conjecture, as they may. 

Some one has dreamed, within the night, 

'' The minister, in clothing white. 

Beside a grave did stand, 

With head all bare, as reading prayer, 

He held his book in hand. 

Dark mourners, bending low around, 

Wetted with silent tears the ground 

And the rough grave-pit scanned. 

Over-against them, on the east. 

Were angel-forms, whereof the least 

Was glorious and grand. 

And, at the words, one scattered dust, 



154 TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 

With bright hand on the coffin's crust, 

And forth a form as of the Just, 

Went with them to their land." 

The simple men, that hear this dream. 

Ask reverent questions, for they deem 

Such things, how strange soe'er they seem, 

No matter for a smile. 

Now say they, as the boat sweeps by, 

" The skipper's eldest son doth lie 

Coffined within her, for his eye 

Looked spirit-like, ere while." 

Ay, ay ! And it is even so ! 

Soon flits about the news of woe : 

" When the Lord's day comes round. 

The long procession, sad and slow. 

Mounting the churchyard hill shall go, 

To lay the young man's body low. 

In consecrated ground." 

Such are full-frequent things with those 

That dwell beside the sea : 

Whose sails feel every wind that blows, 

If fair or foul it be. 

Dear patient fishermen ! for you 

Whom late I lived among, 

My heart, that loved you, yearns anew, 



TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 155 

And often pass before my view 

The forms of old and young. 

For love of you this tale I tell 

Of things now long agone ; 

And as the dark and heavy swell 

Of memory heaves on, 

With wrecks of loves once buildecj well 

As if to live for aye, 

Ye may shed tears like those which fell 

From him that wrote this lay, 

And who again now says farewell ! 

As he will always pray. 

February, 1848. 

Note. As this piece has been very kindly written of by 
friendly pens, the reader may be willing to see the beginning 
(supposed to be told, years after, by the mother-in-law, who 
was one of those making up the family party, of that year, 
down to the Labrador Fishery) of the Tale of 

JOHN HAYES'S LAST VOYAGE. 

" With fishing-gear and equipage, 
All waiting to be gone. 
The " Foam-bird " lay beside the stage. 
And pleasant days came on. 
A sweet, bright June had just begun. 
And through some open door. 
The days came, bringing summer's sun. 



156 TO MY OLD PARISHIONERS. 

' Where all was bleak, before. 

The winds went racing off the land, 

And back, from off the sea ; 

And sweet smells streamed, on every hand. 

From gool * and forest-tree, — 

But there seems a mist my eyes before: 

'Twas a sad voyage, that year, down to the Labradore! 

" And farther out, upon the Bay, 
The dark and steady flow 
Of waves bore off, and far away, 
Beyond where sight could go. 
The southwest wind, out there, was fair; 
Day after day it blew 
On, on, and on, as there were 
No other path it knew : 
Our wind ! and each man took large share 
Of what was yet to do. 

" From Spaniards-Bay to Port-de-Grave, — 
Along the shore, along the wave, — 
There stood a warm-like shimmering haze. 
That minded one of by-gone days. 

" Just there away, the schooner lay, 
Where yonder schooners ride; 
The livelong day, she seemed at play 
With the image at her side." .... 

f Then was to follow a true account, in verse, (for it is a true story,) 
of what the author had told of his " Lacjford," in '' The New Priest." 
.Tohu Hayes saw what is called his " visage," and was lost in the 
schooner, much as Lkdford is described to have been.] 
* Sheep's laurel. 



THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE. 107 



THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE. 

Seest thou the shadow doggmg at thy feet, 
.Without the breath of any at thy side ? 
Lo ! there is one whom thou shalt never meet 
Though thou do travel earth, both long and 

wide ; 
Never in lonely field, — in crowded street, — 
In joy or grief: whatever thee betide, 
To meet thee face to face, nowhere shall he 

abide. 
Seest thou it at thy feet? 
Know'st thou him at thy side ? 

He has been nigh thee since thy tottering pace 
First faltered, doubtful, from thy mother's hand ; 
Anigh thee, yet, he hath his constant place, 
Now that with strong men thou hast taken stand. 
Go as thou wilt, thou winnest not the race ; 
Stay where thou wilt, in this or farthest land, 
Untired he leaves thee not, whose face thou 
hast not scanned. 



158 THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE. 

He ever hath his place : 
Ever is he at hand. 

Albeit ill the growing time of night 
When the green thhigs are starting everywhere. 
And bud and leaf, sure of its tiny right, 
Stretches towards its God for its blest share, 
Then on thy longing mind celestial might 
Has lighted down, and ^with quick vigor there 
Has settled deep and still, — yet, not the less, 

beware ! 
Not present to thy sight, 
The dark one loitered there. 

Albeit in the stir and throng of men. 
Catching warm influence from the glance of eye. 
And thrill of words, that full and frequent, then. 
Go kindling to the heart, ere they will die. 
Thou hast not slumbered, — nor been coward, 

when. 
If need were, thy lone voice must rise on high, 
And thou go lone through all, — yet then that 

One was nigh. 
Amid the crowd of men 
On thee he kept his eye. 



THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE. loO 

Albeit in the home's dear sunny scene, 

Where low and homelike sounds, of birds and 

bees, 
Float ever, streaming through that sea of sheen. 
And wide peace bounds the world's strange 

haunts from these : 
In that, — man's noblest place, — thy soul has 

been 
Like a blest soul, familiar and at ease, 
Sharing a heavenly love that sin could never 

seize. 
He was in that pure scene, 
Though thou wast all at ease. 

Bethink thee how thy well-kept heart has known 
Quick-starting thoughts, a frightful, poisonous 

growth ; 
Bethink thee how suggestions not thine own 
Have crept and overcome it, slow and loth ; 
How a foul breath, o'er its bright vision blown. 
Has buried all in the thick fog of sloth : 
Dost thou not know him, yet, tempter and sharer, 

both ? 
He all thy moods has known. 
When willing and when loth. 
11 



160 THE TEMPTER AT THE SIDE. 

God set that, shadow dogging at thy feet, 
To warn thee one was ever at thy side 
Whate'er tliy state, to pour in promptings meet 
From heavenly guided life to draw thee wide. 
Therefore by day that shade doth near thee' fleet. 
Nor in the night that shadow is denied 
When for God's light of day man's light has 

been supplied : 
Dark shadow \\i tliy feet, 
Dark foe is at thy side. 

November 3 and 4, 1847. 



A RHYME HEAD BY TWO LOVERS 161 



A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

The earth, without, was dark and very still : 
No loving moon leaned downwards from the 

night 
To draw forth, out of darkness, vale and hill, 
And wooded town, and far stream glistening 

white ; 
And with her patient, maiden-modest skill. 
Set the whole silent scene before her sight ; 
And the near park 
Was still and dark, 
And night and stillness, more than all 
Clung to the trees beside the wet house-wall. 
No insect's hum, nor bat-wing's whirring stroke, 
Nor sudden cry the night's thick stillness broke. 

Cool through the casement came light evening 

airs 
From off the meadows wet with summer-rain: 
At times a rain-drop, shaken unawares, 



162 A RBYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

Dripped from its hold, held long, but held in 

vain. 
The gauzy curtain, flowered, slight and frail, 
Swelled with the soft air, like a pleasure-sail ; 
And, in the room, a rich, soft radiance fell 
From the high, shaded lamp, on graceful things 
Which woman knows to choose and set so well 
That from her mere warm touch a new grace 

clings ; 
And now, in that most still of sinumer eves, 
Within the circle of the lamp's mild glow, 
A youth and maiden turned the pictured leaves 
Of a fair book ; their two heads bending so 
That each hears how the other's young heart 

heaves : 
(Ah ! think we of our owi\ loves, long ago ?) 
Her Avreathed, glossy hair now brushed his 

cheek ; 
Now their quick eyes, by one sure, common 

thrill. 
Rose toward each other's, and they did not 

speak, 
F'or strongest, quick-winged speech 
Has never learned to reacli 
Where love's fair meaning looks from cloudless 

height. 



A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 163 

Then she first dropped her slow lids, strong and 
meek, 

And both turned to their task, as with one will ; 

For two like these, knowing that subtile might 

Fills all their features to the utmost grace, 

Fear to show this beside each other's sight ; 

Scarce themselves dare to read other's face ; 

For their deep lives have surely mined, below. 

Each toward the other, through the wall be- 
tween, 

Which soon shall fall, at some slight, sudden 
blow, • 

And one wide love be where two hearts have 
been. 

O dear young love ! Young love most bright ! 

Thou fairest thing this earth can show ! 

Old eyes will moisten at the sight. 

Old hearts will feel the once-known glow ! 

A comely lady sat apart ; 

It might be she was deep in thought ; 

It might be that her very heart 

Must go with what her fingers wrought ; 

Never by any chance 

Her calm, wise matron-glance 

That happy scene of young love sought. 



164 A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

A child, as fresh as that night's breeze, 

Bright as the gone day's light, 

Holding her own book on her knees, 

Beneath her fast-fixed sight, 

With many a half-frayed golden curl, 

Sat near the lovers' seat: 

Through sudden leap and race and whirl, 

Chasing some story fleet. 

Or asking oft, with knitted brow, 

The little-heeding lovers, how 

The words and sense could meet. 

Her little unripe heart recks less 

Of their delicious silentness. 

The maiden's father, too, whate'er 
His stately thoughts or fancies were, 
Seemed, by all senses save of sight, 
(Unlike the mother, calm and wise,) 
Drawn to that circle of the light 
Where the two felt each other's eyes. 
And so, in that most still of summer-eves, 
The youth and maiden turned their pictured 
leaves. 

" Read to me here," she said, and laid her hand, 
Her soft, warm hand, on his, to point him where : 



A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 105 

" Of ' The Night's Guest,' that I may understand 
Why there is pictured here a churchyard bare 
With rounded graves and tombs witliin the wall 
And the tall, shadowing yew-trees over all : 
Why Death stands here, within this open dooi". 
That the old man waits, wearily, before." 
The youth glanced at the picture while she said 
Her gentle words, — and longer, — and then 
read : — 



THE NIGHT'S GUEST. 

In the evening, cold and dreary, 
Knocketh one at hostel-door : 

All the way looks dark before 
As the way behind was weary. 

" Host ! Hast thou a chamber quiet ? 

I have come a weary way : 
Fain would rest till early day, 

Far from wicked din of riot " 

" I have many a quiet chamber, 
Out of reach of human call : 

And upon the outer wall 

Scented briar and cypress clamber." 



166 J[ RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

' ' Quick ! O Friend ! I may not tany , 

I am all with toil forespent : 
And my aching knees are bent 

With the weary weight I carry." 

Rough-voiced was the Host and surly, 
Yet he spake in softened tone : 

'' Hast a load, and art alone ? 
Go not to thy rest so early." 

" Host, I am Avith travel broken : 
Slumber weigheth on my eyes : 

Yet I take in courteous wise 

What in courteous wise was spoken. 

" Lo ! the load, that doth me cumber, 
'Tis but this my body's weight ; 

I have borne it far and late ; 
Now I long for restful slumber." 

" Yet I give but friendly warning," 
Said the Host in softened tono ; 

" Why, then, wilt thou go alone, 

Since thou goest at early morning ? " 

" Host ! I go not hence unfriended, 
I have comrades for the way. 

Now no longer bid me stay ; 

Let this lougsome day be ended." 



A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 107 

" Yea ! but I have chambers many, 
Meet for many a different guest ; 

One in hallowed bed hath rest, 
One lies down iinblest of any." 

"Not so far I come unshriven ; 

Weeping sore 1 sought release : 
To my soul was spoken peace ; 

Pledges twain to me were given." 

" Yet forgive me : though thou seekest. 
Weary, nought but welcome rest. 

Take my warning, O my Guest, 

Prove those things whereof thou speakest. 

"Art thou of the Holy number? 

Dost thou know the Blessed Lord ? 
Canst thou give the Holy Word ? 

Thou in hallowed bed shalt slumber." 

" I may claim by Holy Mother, 

For the Blood that stained the Tree ; 

And the Word she gave to me 
Is, The Cross : 1 know no other." 

" Now no more 1 may deny thee ; 

Chide me not, mine honored guest, 
That I kept thee from thy rest ; 

'Twas the King that bade me try thee. 



168 ^1 RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

" Waiteth now thy quiet chamber, 
Thou wilt lie in hallowed bed, 

Cross's sign above thy head, 

O'er the wall shall roses clamber. 

" Thou hast well those pledges taken — ' 
Be thy slumber calm and sweet, 

Till at early day, thou greet 
Him whose voice shall thee awaken." 

So with courteous word and gesture 
Went the host before his guest: 

Lighted him to place of rest : 

Help'd him doff his soiled vesture. 

Laid him down in chamber quiet, 
He that came from weary way. 

Resting until early day. 

Far from wicked din of riot. 

The two were graver when the tale was done : 
And then the maiden said, " The old are sad 
When all dear things have fallen, one by one. 
And the dim eyes see earth with shadows clad." 
She spoke f^ir-looking forward into thuuglit 
Where from the poet's hand the scene stood 

wrought. — 
" We are not old," the young man answer made ; 



A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 169 

'' Nor does the world, to us, yet wear its shade. 

AW' look, with longing eyes, 

Wh(n-e our bright future lies, 

A fair, fair field, with glistering glories wet. 

And fame and power, to win, ere the long sun 

be set ! " 
She quickly turned to him, from her far t!ioug!it, 
And with full eyes his flashing glances caught. 
Then he recalled himself from that gieat part. 
But wearing half its look upon his face : 
'• And love " — he murmured, down into her 

heart. 
Already floating tears in her bright eyes had 

place : 
'• What earthly thing shall last ? What earthly 

thing shall last?" 
She said, most sadly : '• Still must we forecast ? " 
But her round tears brought forth his answer, 

fast. 
" How can this change, until this life be 

changed ? 
How can it change, till life itself be changed ? " 
He said : " Love is the very imnost thing. 
From our own being we must be estranged, 
Ere time to this deep love a change can bring. " 
*' If it be God's," her voice most kind and dear 



170 A RHYME READ BY TWO LOVERS. 

Spoke back, " the world cannot be drear : " 
And when they parted, wishing each '' Good 

night ! " 
" It must be God's," she said ; and she was right. 
Then their two loves met at each otlier's lip : 
Can li.'e be drear, before such fellowship ? 
Peace to thee, dear young love ! Good in"ght I 

Good night! 
For not till youth, and life, and death is o'er. 
Shall this Avorld's love, thus hallowed, be no 

more. 
But the short story of the tired Night's Guest 
Tells how that love, at evening, goes to rest. 



TilK BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. 171 



THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT.* 

Woe for the brave ship Orient! 

Woe for the old ship Orient ! 

For in broad, broad light, and with land in 

sight, 
AVhere the waters bubbled white, 
One great sharp shriek ! One shudder of 

affright ! — 
And — 

down went the brave old ship, the Orient I 

It was the fairest day in the merry month of 

May, 
And sleepiness had settled on the seas ; 
And we had our white sail set, high up, and 

higher yet. 
And our flag flashed and fluttered at its ease : 
Tlie Cross of St. George, that in mountain and 

in gorge,— 
On the hot and dusty plain, — 

[* Perhaps some may read this poem into an allegory 
of the Church of Enii;lcmcl uiul that of the EastJ 



172 THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. 

On the tiresome, trackless main, — 
Conquering out, — conquering home again, — 
Had flamed, the world over, on the breeze. 
Ours was the far-famed Albion, 
And she had her best look of might and 

beauty on, 
As she s\A'ept across the seas that day. 
The wind was fair and soft, both alow and aloft, 
And we wore the even hours away. 

The steadying sun heaved up, as day drew on, 

And there grew a long swell of the sea. 

And, first in upper air, then under, everywhere, 

From the topmost towering sail 

Down, doAvn to quarter-rail. 

The wind began to breatlie more free. 

It was soon to breathe its last ; 

For a wild and bitter blast 

Was the master of that stormy day to be. 

" Ho ! Hilloa ! A sail ! " was the topman's hail : 

" A sail, hull-down upon our lee ! " . 

Then with sea-glass to his eye, 

And his gray locks blowing by. 

The Admiral sought what she might be. 

And from top, and from deck, 



THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. l7o- 

Was it ship ? Was it wreck ? A far-off, far- 
off speck, 
Of a sudden we found upon our lee. 

On the round waters wide, floated no thing 

beside. 
But we and the stranger sail : 
And a hazy sky, that threatened storm, 
Came coating the heaven so blue and warm, 
And ahead hung the portent of a gale ; 
A black bank hanging there 
When the order came, to wear, 
Was remembered, ever after, in the tale. 

Across the long, slow swell 

That scarcely rose and fell. 

The wind began to blow out of the cloud ; 

And scarce an hour was gone ere the gale was 

fairly on, 
And through our strained rigging howled aloud. 
Before the stormy wind, that was maddening 

behind, 
VYe gathered in our canvas farthest spread. 
Black clouds had started out 
Fi'om the heavens all about. 
And the welkin grew all black overhead. 



174: THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. 

But though stronger and more strong 

The fierce gale rushed along, 

The stranger brought her old wind in her breast. 

Up came the ship from the far-off sea, 

And on with the strong wind's breath rushed Ave. 

She grew to the eye, against the clouded sky, 

And eagerly her points and gear we guessed. 

As we made her out, at last. 

She was maimed in spar and mast, 

And she hugged the easy breeze for rest. 

We could see the old wind fail 

At the nearing of our gale ; 

We could see them lay their course with the 

wind : 
Still we neared and neared her fast, 
Hurled on by our fierce blast. 
With the seas tumbling headlong behind. 
She had come out of some storm, and, in many 

a busy swarm, 
Her crew were refitting, as they might, 
The wreck of upper spars 
That had left their ugly scars. 
As if the ship had come out of a fight. 
We scanned her well, as we drifted by: 
A strange old ship, with her poop built high, 



THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. 175 

And Avitli quarter-galleries wide, 

And a huge beaked prow, as no ships are 

builded now, 
And carvings all strange, beside. 
A Byzantine bark, and a ship of name and 

mark 
Long years and generations ago ; 
Ere any mast or yard of ours was growing 

hard 
With the seasoning of long Norwegian snow. 
She was the brave old Orient, 
The old imperial Orient, 
Brought down from times afar 
Not such as our ships are, 
But unchanged in hull and unchanged in spar, 
Since mighty ships of war were builded so. 

Down her old black side poured the water in 

a tide. 
As they toiled to get the better of a leak : ' 
We had got a signal set in the shrouds, 
And our men through the storm looked on in 

crowds : 
But for wind, we were near enough to sj^eak. 
It seemed her sea and sky were in times long, 

long gone by, 
12 



176 THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT. 

That we read in winter-evens about ; 

As if to other stars 

She had reared her old-world spars, 

And her hull had kept an old-time ocean out. 

We saw no signal fly, and her men scarce lifted 

eye, 
But toiled at the work that was to do ; 
It warmed our English blood 
When, across the stormy flood, 
We saw the old ship and her creAv. 
The glories and the memories of other days 

agone 
Seemed clinging to the old ship, as in storm 

she labored on. 
The old ship Orient! 
The brave, imperial Orient ! 

All that stormy night through, our ship was 

lying-to, 
Whenever we could keep her to the wind ; 
But late in the next day we gained a (]uiet 

bay. 
For the tempest had left us far behind. 
So before the sunny town 
Went our anchors splashing down ; 
Our sails we hung all out to the sun ; 



THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIENT 177 

While airs from off the steep 

Came playing at bo-peep 

With our canvas, hour by hour, in their fun. 

We leaned on boom or rail with many a lazy 

tale 
Of the work of the storm that had died ; 
And watched, with idle eyes. 
Our floats, like summer flies. 
Riding lazily about the ship's side. 
Suddenly they cried, from the other deck, 
That the Orient was gone to wreck! 
That her hull lay high on a broken shore, 
And the brave old ship would float no more. 
But we heard a sadder tale, ere the night came on. 
And a truer tale, of the ship that was gone. 
They had seen from the height. 
As she came from yester-night, 
While the sea was runnino- hio;h, 
And the storm not all gone by, 
A ship driving heavily to land ; 
A strange great ship, (so she seemed to be 
While she tumbled and rolled on the far-ofl* sea. 
And strange when she toiled, near at hand,) 
But some ship of mark and fame, 
Though crippled, then, and lame, 
And that could not but be oallantly manned. 



178 THE BRAVE OLD SHIP, THE ORIEXT. 

So she came, driving fast ; 

They could tell her men, at last ; 

There were harbors down the coast on her lee ; 

When, strangely, she broached to, — 

Then, with her gallant crew, 

Went headlong down into the sea. 

That was the Orient ; 

The brave old Orient : 

Such a ship as never more will be. 

1857 and 1860. 



SONGS OF OUR HOLY WAR. 



dear Lord, we know what death is worth: 
Thou diedst in woe and pain upon the cross: 
Out of thy death man's freedom had its birth, 
And for his gain Thou gavest all thy loss. 



HYMX FOR THE HOST IN WAR. 181 



HYMN FOR THE HOST IN WAR.* 

With banners fluttering forth on high, 

And music's stirring breath, 
Lord God ! we stand beneath Thine eye, 

Arrayed for work of death. 

When we our stormy battle wage, 

Thy Spirit be our zeal ! 
In conquering, teach us not man's rage, 

But Thine own ruth to feel. 

Thy Christ led forth no host to fight, 

But He disbanded none : 
And our true life, and our best right, 

By death alone He won. 

Dear Lord ! if we our lives must give. 
And give our share of earth, 

* "Christmas" (Handel's), or any other solemn and 
stirring " Common Metre " tune. 



182 HYMN FOR THE HOST IN WAR. 

To save, for those that after live, 
What makes our land's true worth, 

Lead Thou our march to war's worst lot, 

As to a peace-time feast ; 
Grant, only, that our souls be not 

Without Clmst's Life released! 

O God of heaven's most glorious host ! 

To Thee this hymn we raise ; 
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

One God, one voice of praise ! 

July 15, 1861. 



NEW ENGLAND ARMING. 183 



NEW ENGLAND ARMING. 



Along the soil whereon we tread, 

Our fathers' prints are hollow : 
The grass is taller where they bled ; 

We will not fear to follow : 
We have not less to love than they ; 

Our hearts are not the colder: 
ISor shall our sons, of younger day. 

With shame recall the older. 

II. 

We bear upon our muster-roll 

Such names as live in story ; 
And many more, that on that scroll 

Shall win their share in glory. 
There were plain name sat Bunker Hill, 

And modest answers met them : 
Now, proudly known, we call them still : 

Can they that wear, forget them? 



184 XEW ENGLAND ARMING. 

III. 
Our home, our own old home, is dear 

By ties we cannot number : 
The spoili'r shall not trample here, 

Or death shall be his slumber. 
But ye that taught her soil to bloom, 

And with fond toil have cherished, 
Her flowers shall wa\e above your tomb 

If for her sake ye perished. 

IV. 

Here first arose the trembling cry 

Of freedom, feebly spoken : 
Here last her lofty tones shall die 

When her proud heart is broken. 
At Concord, and at Lexington, 

Our fatliers stood for justice : 
The fight was lost, the cause was won ; 

In their ow^n God our trust is. 

V. 

At every hearth some cherished form 

A lonely w^atch is keeping: 
Our maidens see the rushing storm, 

And gentle eyes are weeping. 



NEW ENGLAND ARMING. 185 

It shall not be a coward's name 
That those loved lips are calling; 

And never shall the tears of shame 
Fall where those tears are falling. 

VI. 

A secret prayer is rising there 

In timid accents given : 
Our battle-crj shall fill the air 

And echo high in heaven. 
Together we will fight and fall, 

Or we will live together : 
One heaven shall bend above us all 

In storm or smmy weather. 

1839: retouched, 1861. 



186 THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND. 



THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND. 

[ This ship went down on the 9th of March, under Lieuten- 
ant George M. Morris, with her flag flying, and her guns fir- 
ing (while the water was closing over them) at the iron mon- 
ster "Virginia," which had cut two yawning holes in her side. 
The chaplain and one hundred and twenty of the crew are 
said to have sunk in her.] 

Cheer ! cheer ! for our noble Yankee tars, 
That fought the ship Cumberland ! 

And bare the head for their maims and scars, 
And their dead that lie off the strand ! 

Who whines of the ghastly gash and wound, 

Or the horrible deaths of war ? 
Where, where should a brave man's death be 
found ? 

And what is a true heart for? 

Thank God for these men ! Ah ! they knew 
when 



THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND. 187 

Was the time for true hearts to die ! 
How their flag sank, apeak, will flush the brave 
cheek 
While this earth shall hang in the sky! 

In the bubbling waves they fired their last, 
Where sputtered the burning wad : 

And fast at their post, as their guns were fast, 
Went a hundred and more before God. 

Not a man of all but had stood to be shot, 
(So the flag might fly,) or to drown ; 

The sea saved some, for it came to their lot. 
And some with their ship went down. 

Then cheer for these men ! they want not 
gold ; 

But give them their ship once more. 
And the flag that yet hangs in wet and cold 

By their dead at that faithless shore. 

Our sunken ship we '11 yet weigh up. 

And we '11 raise our deep-drowned brave, 

If we drain those Roads till a baby's cup 
May puddle their last shoal wave. 



188 THE MEN OF THE CUMBERLAND. 

And we '11 tell in tale, and sing in song, 
How the Cumberland was fought 

By men who knew that all else was wrong 
But to die when a sailor ought. 

March 20, 1862. 



NEW ORLEANS WON BACK 189 



NEW ORLEANS AVON BACK. 

A LAY FOK OUR SAILORS. 

[The opening words of the burden are a scrap of old song 
caught up.] 

Catch — Oh, up in the morning, up in the 

morning, 
Up in the morning early ! 
There hiy the town that our guns 

looked down. 
With its streets all dark and surly. 

God made three youths to walk unscathed 

In the furnace seven times hot ; 

And when smoky flames our squadron bathed, 

Amid horrors of shell and shot, 

Then, too, it was God that brought them thi'oiigh 

That death-crowded thoroughfare : 

»So now, at six bells, the church pennons flew. 

And the crews went all to prayer. 

Thank God ! Thank God ! our men won the fight, 

Against forts, and fleet, and flame : 



I'H) NEW ORLEANS WON BACK 

Thank God ! they have given our flag its right 
In a town that brought it shame. 

Oh, up in the morning, up in the 

morning, 
Up in the morning early ! 
Our flag hung there, in the fresh, 

still air, 
With smoke floating soft and curly. 

Ten days for the deep ships at the bar; 

Six days for the mortar fleet. 

That battered the great forts from afar ; 

And then, to that deadly street ! 

A flash ! Our strong ships snapped the boom, 

To the fire-rafts and the forts, 

To crush and crash, and flash and gloom, 

And iron beaks fumbling their ports. 

From the dark came the raft, in flame and 

smoke ; 
In the dark came the iron beak ; 
But our sailors' hearts were stouter than oak, 
And the false foe's iron weak. 

Oh, up in the morning, up in the 
morning, 

Up in the morning early ! 



NEW ORLEANS WON BACK. 191 

Before they knew, they had burst 

safe through, 
And left the forts, grim and burly. 
Though it be brute's work, not man's, to tear 
Live limbs like slivered wood ; 
Yet, to dare, and to stand, and to take denth 
• for share. 

Are as much as the angels could. 
Our men towed the blazing rafts ashore ; 
They battered the great rams down ; 
Scarce a wreck floated where was a fleet be- 
fore. 
When our shijDS came up to the town. 
There were miles of batteries yet to be dared, 
But they quenched these all, as in play ; 
Then, with their yards squared, and their guns' 

mouths bared. 
They held the great town at bay. 

Oh, up in the morning, up in the 

morning. 
Up in the morning early ! 
Our stout ships came through shell, 

shot, and flame. 
But the town will not always be 
sm-ly ; 



13 



192 NEW ORLEANS WON BACK. 

For this Crescent City takes to its breast 

The Father of Waters' tide ; 

And here shall the wealth of our world, in the 

West, 
Meet wealth of the world beside: 
Here the date-palm and the olive find 
A near and equal sun ; 
And a hundred broad, deep rivers wind 
To the summer-sea in one : 
Hear the Fall steals all old Winter's ice, 
And the Spring steals all his snow ; 
While he but smiles at their artifice, 
And lets his own nature go. 

Oh, up in the morning, up in the 
morning, 

Up in the morning early ! 

May that flag float here till the earth's 
last year. 

With the lake mists, fair and pearly. 

Duanesburgh, May 27, 1862. 



A CALL OF TRUE MEN. 193 



A CALL OF TRUE MEN. 

Up to battle ! Up to battle ! 

All we love is saved or lost ! 

Workshop's hum and wayside's tattle, 

Off! This thing the life may cost. 

Come, for your country! For all dear things, 

come ! 
Come to the roll of the rallying drum ! 

You have seen the spring-swollen river 
Hurling torrent, ice and wreck : 
You have felt the strong pier quiver 
Like a tempest-shaken deck : — 
Many a stout heart, quick hand, and eye. 
Broke the water's mad strength, and it went 
by. 

Look on this mad, threatening torrent. 
Tumbling on, with blood and death I 
Will we see our bulwarks war-rent ? 
Never ! Snatch a strona;er breath : 



194 A CALL OF TRUE ME IS. 

Here is good man's work ! Break through, and 

through ! 
What matters hardship, or danger, to you ? 

What were death to any true man 

If the cause be true and high? 

Beastly might quails under human 

Looking calmly in its eye. 

Come ! Avith your fearless strength break yonder 

ranks ! 
God's blessing ! glory ! and evermore thanks ! 

August 5, 1862. 



THIS DAY, COUNTRYMEN. 1^5 



THIS DAY, COUNTRYMEN. 

Cowards, slink away ! 
But who scorns to see the foe 
Deal onr land all shame and woe, 
Must come forth, to-day ! 

Crops are safe, afield ; 
Cripples and old men can reap, 
Young and strong and bold must leap 
Other tools to wield. 

Cast the daily trade ! 
Never may be bought or won, 
After this great fight is done. 
What, To-day, is weighed. 

Leave the true-love's side ! 
Go, be fearless and be strong: 
Woman glories to belong, 
Where she looks Avitli pride. 



196 THIS DAY, COUNTRYMEN. 

True men hold our line : 
Basely leave their true ranks thin, 
Waste and ruin will rush in, 
Like the trampling swine. 

Who dares be a man ? 
Now, for home and law and right, 
Go, in God's name, to the fight ! 
Rescue ! while we can. 

August 5, 1862. 



MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR. 197 



MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR. 

A fife's shrill strain comes up the way ; 
Quick drum-beats make the pulses play ; 
Light sprays are waving overhead ; 
I hear a manifold tramp and tread : 

Ah! you are soldiers, now, my kindly neigh- 
bors, 
Learning the step and drill and watch at night ; 
Bound to that field where bayonets and sabres 
Cut living flesh, and honest work is fight. 

God bless you, there, as in this homely tillage ! 
One while, our brow's sweat, — one while, heart's 

red gore. 
Keep safe the free homes! save the land from 

pillage ! 
Give to some right, once, — peace to all, once 

more ! 

We must be ready for our Time to call us ; 
Noble and brave, the best have answered first : 



198 MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR. 

We must be men, let good or ill befall us : 
Self-slaves and cowards in tneir blood are curst. 

What has God set us in His living world for, 
Save tor the work that falls upon our day? 
His iron smites the bosom it was hurled for, 
One in his honest place, and one, away. 

Go your great way ! the sight of you has 

kindled 
Awe for a simple man's midaunted will : 
Men of great place, and men's great gains, have 

dwindled : 
Daring of death for right grows higher still. 

Soldiers, keep near best thoughts of homes that 
bred you : 

Love, and the Prayer, and Parent's kind re- 
proof ; 

Toil and earned rest; the maiden that shall 
wed you ; 

Plenty and peace beneath the farmer's roof. 

Think of our Road, and Hill, and far-seen 

Churches ; 
Neighbors that gather on the Sabbath-morn ; 



MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR. 199 

Hear the harsh cry from where the peacock 

perches,* 
Not breaking that strong peace, of God's Word 

born. 

Think of our God, by whom your pledge is 

holden ; 
Do your work well : He sees it from above : 
So, by and by, along the streets all golden, 
March in blest triumph under eyes of love ! 

The fife's shrill strain faints far away : 
Again bright stillness holds the day. 
The drum's dull sound, behind the hill. 
Lets down the blood's warm, hurried thrill. 

It is not like our full-ripe grain 
To cut fellow-men down, made in vain : 
But come they crushing truth and right, 
Sinks their low manhood out of sight. 
By manful hands God fells man's crime : 
The way shows forth : we see the time. 

To some of us no high call comes 

To march with clarions, flags, and drums, 

* These simple reminders will touch our townsmen's 
hearts. 



200 MY TOWNSMEN FOR THE WAR. 

And fling our life-strength into the throng :- 
We have our prayer and speech and song. 
Some take a place : the great Fate glides, 
Far angels peering from the sides ; 
Aiid farther down are won the gains, 
Safe law, broad right, and broken chains. 

Duanesburgh, July, 1863. 



THE FAILURE AT FREDERICKSBURG. 201 



THE FAILURE AT FREDERICKSBURG, 

TINDEK THAT TRUE MAN AND SOLDIER, MAJOR-GENERAL 
BURNSIDE. 

Was nothing gained ? Is this not gain, so high 
A mark for us and after-comers set ? 

Life is at strongest that can greatly die, 

And manhood better worth than all men get. 

Is this not gain, that our slow, flabby heart, 

Dull-laboring, long, in sordid work and trade. 
With quick, strong, throb thrown back to it 
should start. 
And learn that beat wherewith great deeds 
are made ? 

At need best blood may better far be shed 
Than frame fair thought, or drive the wheel 
and plough : 

No fathers yet for country nobly bled. 

Whose sons are not the nobler livers now. 

To push the bridge up to the flaming guns, 
To throng the rocking skiffs, in death's broad 
sight, 



202 THE FAILURE AT FREDERICKSBURG. 

To wade the trench where their own life-blood 
runs, — 
This was to conquer, if they lost they fight. 

They fail not, that their face still forward keep, 
And lift their stout hearts up from every 
fall : 
They fail that in mid-stream dread greater 
deep ; 
They fail, that, losing little, fear for all. 

Here in far home, by safe ties tamely held. 
We shame to write of these things brave and 
high, 
Though our own blood from its next veins has 
welled, 
And meekly we dare hope that we could 
die. 

But shall your great deeds want their written 
fame ; 

Our coward voices give you back no cheer? 
To sit aghast or dumb were greater shame 

Than thus to warm to manhood, even here. 

January 8, 1863. 



PRAYER IN THE FIGHT. ' 203 



PRAYER IN THE FIGHT. 

[From KoRNEK, 1831, revised 1846.] 

Father, I call on Thee ! 
Roaring, the smoke of the battle rolls o'er me ; 
Flashing, the lightning of death is before me : 
God of the battle, 1 call on Thee : 
Father, oh, lead Thou me ! 

Father, oh, lead Thou me ! 
Whether to conquer or perish betide me, 
Lord, Thy commandment ever shall guide me. 
Lord, as Thou will, so guide Thou me : 
God, I acknowledge Thee ! 

God, I acknowledge Thee ! 
As when the leaves in harvest-time rustle, 
So in the war-tempest's terrible justle, 

Outspring of Grace, I acknowledge Thee. 

Father, oh, bless Thou me ! 

Father, oh, bless Thou me ! 
Life I commit to Thy hands, in heaven • 



204 PRAYER IN THE FIGHT. 

Well mayest Thou take what by Thee has 
been given : 
In living, in dying, bless Thou me ! 
God, I give praise to Thee ! , 

God, I give praise to Thee ! 
Strife is not here for mean barter or chattel; 
All that is holiest hangs on our battle : 

Fall we, or stand, I give praise to Thee : 

God, I submit to Thee ! 

God, I submit to Thee ! 
When me the thunder of death has greeted, 
When from my veins the life's-blood has fleeted, 
To Thee, — I commit myself to Thee : 

Father, I call on Thee ! 



OUR LAND BEYOND THE WAR. 205 



OUR LAND BEYOND THE WAR. 



When our good God shall give us rest from 

fighting, 
And send our soldiers singing from the field, 
Where the great wrong has found its bloody 

rightino^ 
From men that life, but never right would yield ; 



There, in long peace, when sunny plenty hovers, 

With sounds of mirth and work, o'er all the 
land, 

There homelike households are, and sly, true- 
lovers. 

And merry children, gambol, hand in hand ; 

Brailing their sails, the pennoned ships, deep- 
freighted. 

Come sliding through the ranks of anchored 
hulls ; 

In stony streets, the roar of trade belated, 

Touches almost the morrow ere its lulls ; 



206 OVR LAND BEYOND THE WAR. 

Over the world to thee, shall lowly dwellers. 
Look, lovingly, Free Land, as fondly we ; 
And at dim hearths, and in dark ways, the 

tellers 
Of thy proud fame and thy great hope shall 

be. 

1863. 



X 




3lt.77-2X 



